Lying is Done with Words and Also With Silence
by letodian-peony
Summary: A mission gone awry leaves Jim unable to remember anything of his life after he started at the Academy. When a strange question is asked, Spock lies to him against his better judgment. When his memories are returned, can their relationship survive? K/S
1. To Test a Hypothesis

_Mental suicide_

**AN: **Well, I was inspired to write this one based on a prompt off of the infamous Star Trek XI Kink Meme. The meme is as follows (and is quite long):

_Due to some mission related accident or what have you, Kirk loses a large chunk of his memory. Like, everything from mid-academy days to present. McCoy isn't sure how long it'll last, but since Jim still has all of his technical knowledge and whatever, he clears him for duty. Jimmy, of course, is having a wonderful time finding out about his many adventures, but after talking with a certain someone (*cough*) he begins to get the feeling that he's missing something. One day, he asks Spock a question. "Hey Spock?" "Yes, Captain?" "Were we in a relationship before, you know-?"_

_Spock has no idea what to say, wondering what led his captain to believe such an illogical (to his deep regret) thing. He should just tell the truth right away, say no, but for some reason, he can't. Spock lies. Jim feels regret for not remembering something so important, and makes an effort to 'continue' their 'past relationship', to see how he feels about it. Because, honestly, Spock is just drop-dead sexy. Weeks, months, whatever later, they're in a happy relationship, and Spock has fallen hard for Kirk. However, he feels guiltier every day for lying to his t'hy'la, and he thinks that if Kirk knew the truth, he would not only not feel obligated to love him, but he would be insanely pissed, and never talk to him again. Spock can't stand the idea of losing him, but he can't stand not telling him either._

_Bonus points if Spock tries to tell him a couple of times, but Kirk does something endearing or romantic that makes him say 'never mind' or something, and tell himself 'just one more day, I'll tell him tomorrow'._

**Warnings: **Language, Sex (in later chapters), Slash K/S

**Disclaimer:** I don't own rights to the characters contained therein this work of fiction, nor do I make a profit.

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"I must sincerely advise against this plan, Captain."

It was tense in the conference room. No one was willing to give an inch, but god knew Jim was going to take a mile.

"You say that, anticipating that I'll change my mind?" Jim asked crossly, frustrated from the constant disapproval he was receiving from his First Officer. They stared each other down briefly, silently. "Well you must know that I'm not."

"For the love of God, Jim, you can't be serious!" Bones shouted. There must be a black hole forming in the universe somewhere; Bones and Spock were on the same side of an argument. "We can't be sure that nothing will happed to you. We can't even be sure that you can even go to the surface of that planet."

"The readings were sufficient." Jim stated flatly. He was well aware of the usual circumstances of those readings, but he was still willing to try his luck. His blatant disregard for his own safety, coupled with his sense of adventure always got him into tough situations, but nevertheless, he managed to make it out alive, much to the worry and heartache of his crewmen and friends. But this mission was more than just Jim trying to cheat death and have a little fun. This mission involved the entire crew.

The deal had been if he went to the planet's surface and met with the leader and did what he was told, the entire crew of the _Enterprise_, himself included, would be spared. If he refused, they would all be killed. And it would be a cold day in Hell before Jim let anything come to harm his crew and his ship.

"Jim, those readings can't possibly be correct!"

"The doctor is right, Captain. The planet is not capable of sustaining life."

"The computer says that this damn spot right here can, and that's where I'm going, like it or not." Jim yelled, finally losing his patience.

"I must…"

"Shut up, Mr. Spock." Jim stated through clenched teeth, pushing past his First Officer and CMO.

Spock recoiled ever so slightly, and if McCoy hadn't been watching slyly, he could have sworn he saw worry on the hobgoblin's face.

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"Energize, Mr. Scott." He stated briskly, walking into the transporter room, Spock and Bones right on his heels. He had already made his decision and their disagreement had no sway on him at this moment.

"Aye." His chief engineer answered reluctantly. He appeared to be stalling, and took just enough time to let Spock and McCoy enter the room.

"God_dammit_, Jim. I can't let you do this." His friend's gruff voice was strained with buried concern. "How can we be sure they aren't going to kill you on sight, if the planet itself doesn't do the job."

"I said _enough_, dammit. I am not going to change my mind so get off it."

Bones' face fell. He knew that he wasn't going to win this argument. A battle of wills against James Tiberius Kirk was never won. The bastard was too damn stubborn. It was just a part of who he was, and why they loved him, even if it probably caused everyone heartburn from the worry.

Despite McCoy's concession, Spock still tried to deter his captain.

"Sir, I sincerely recommend we send someone else, I will volunteer myself, as I cannot allow you to do something so foolish."

"Not another word out of you." Jim snapped. He was running out of time, and standing here arguing with his CMO and First Officer was getting him nowhere but closer to the annihilation of the _Enterprise _and her crew. "Energize, Mr. Scott." He growled, enunciating each syllable.

"But…" The Scotsman voiced.

"That is an _order_."

Jim wordlessly stepped on to the transported pad, his eyes locking with McCoy, Spock and finally Scotty.

"Do you have to coordinates?" He stated, voice slightly calmer than before, but with a threatening tone advising against any further arguments.

"Aye, sir." Scotty placed the coordinates in. "Energizing." He was a little nervous. He glanced over to where McCoy and Spock were standing. Bones had those tell-tale lines that framed his mouth that appeared whenever he was worried. Spock however seemed as emotionless as usual. Both men had their eyes trained on their captain, unwavering.

Jim took a deep breath as the transporter started up, is eyes becoming blinded by the bright light. The last thing he remembered seeing in the transporter room were space black eyes slightly clouded with fear.

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He glanced around quickly, noting that the vegetation was not unlike Earth and that the air was perfectly breathable. He scoffed to himself at the worry that had been eating at his two closest friends, but deep down, he had to admit that he was slightly afraid, but he knew what had to be done.

He grabbed his communicator and flipped it open, taking one last quick glance to see if there was any danger. Satisfied that he was alone, he tried to contact the _Enterprise_.

"Kirk to _Enterprise_." He stated. No response. "Kirk to _Enterprise_, come in _Enterprise_." Still no response.

"You will not be able to contact your ship until we determine that you may."

Jim turned around to come face to face with a man dressed purely in white, who's eyes had no iris. He couldn't help but stare, fascinated by the sight.

"We know quite a bit about you, James Tiberius Kirk." The figure stated, his voice fluid like water. Jim kept silent. "We know of the feat you have accomplished, of saving the Earth from Nero." Jim cringed at the name. "But we also know of your other characteristics; you're tendency to consume alcohol, your addiction to intercourse. You are quite an interesting being, James Kirk."

"What do you want?" Jim asked, unsure of what was going on.

"We would like to observe you."

"Observe me? What the Hell are you talking about?" Jim asked, eyes narrowing.

"Ah, confusion and fear." He figure stated, approaching Jim. "You humans are full of complex patterns of emotion." He titled his head slightly to the side as if he were examining a strange insect, captivating and beautiful, yet slightly repulsive at the same time. "We have formulated a theory about your race. We have found that you as a person are defined by your memories and your choices. What you call destiny is a never-ending chain of doors, and as you open one, another remains closed forever. We have observed from the alternate universe that you and your counterpart are significantly different, even though you are the same person."

"What does that have to do with why you have lured me down here and held me hostage?" Jim barked.

"We want to test our theory."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"We are going to take away your memories and observe how James Tiberius Kirk is defined as a result."

"_What_?"

"It will not be permanent. You're memories will returned to you when we have collected sufficient data."

"I decline."

"You do not have that option, unless you are willing to sacrifice your ship, James Kirk."

Jim's eyes widened in horror. He had no choice.

The figure approached steadily.

"This will not hurt you, James Kirk."

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**AN**: And chapter one, ladies and gentlemen. The review whore begs for your words, please and thank you.

Also, if you haven't gotten around to checking out the anon Star Trek XI Kink Meme, google it. Some prompts will make you laugh, some will make you cringe, some will perhaps even inspire you.

It's not all sex, so check it out.


	2. To Remain Calm

"Any word from the Captain, Mr. Scott?" Spock asked the chief of engineering as soon as the man entered the bridge.

"Give me a minute to get in here, Spock." Scotty sighed. The First Officer had been on edge ever since the Captain was transported down to the planet.

"Spock, there's a communication coming in." Uhura stated, her voice full of shock.

"What's the matter, lass?" Scotty asked before Spock could, noticing the alarm in her tone.

"The message is coming from the Captain's communicator, but he is not the one relaying the message." She stated.

"What has happened to the Captain?" Spock asked, the tiniest amount of fury and fear leaking into his voice.

"The message just relayed a set of coordinates." She stated, handing over a P.A.D.D. to Spock, who almost tore it from her. Scotty peeked over Spock's shoulder.

"That's the same coordinates to where we sent the Captain." He muttered.

"To the transporter room, Mr. Scott." Spock stated, his composure fully regained. He handed the P.A.D.D. to Scotty. Pressing a button on the arm of the command chair, he was greeted with the annoyed voice of McCoy.

"As I said, I haven't _heard anything_." Bones growled. "You'd be the first person to know, so stop calling me."

"Doctor, we have gotten word from the surface of the planet. Report to the transporter room with haste and be prepared for the worst." Spock disconnected the call to look up into Uhura's deep brown eyes.

"How could you even _think_ that way?"

"May I inquire your meaning?"

"I mean, how could you think that the Captain is…" Her voice trailed off, unwilling to say the word. "He's the closest thing you have to a friend. How could you?"

"My expression of concern would not change anything." He stated. Uhura huffed and turned in her seat, angrily. Of course Jim got on her nerves on a regular basis, but she wouldn't want to see him dead. Somewhere along the way she had fallen victim to his charm, and she just _couldn't_ see him being dead. "Sulu, you have the conn." Spock stated coolly, stepping into the turbolift.

For the briefest of moments, his body shook, unable to shake the terrible image of Jim's lifeless body from his mind.

* * *

"Mr. Scott, have you locked onto the Captain?" Spock asked, walking into the transporter room, back straight as an arrow, arms folded behind his back. He had to remain calm. His face did not betray the thoughts raging inside his head, all the calculated possibilities of what could have happened.

"Aye, sir." Scott stated, his eyes locked onto the screen, checking for readings. Bones burst into the room at that moment.

"What's going on? Why isn't he back onboard yet? What the Hell are you two doing?" The good doctor raged. Behind him stood Nurse Chapel, attempting to calm McCoy down. She shared a knowing glance with Spock.

Underneath all the sarcasm that gruff, grouchy, Southern gentleman cared deeply for the Captain. They had been friends ever since that moment on the shuttle, when anyone else would have been put off by Bones' attitude and promise that he could vomit on them at any moment, Jim met that attitude with a joking, somehow comforting presence that eventually became a deep friendship. Of course, like any other person on the _Enterprise_, Bones' had his fair share of arguments with the Captain, but under all the swears and insults, they were still best friends.

And now he was standing staring at the transporter, which he hated, wondering if the person that would be resting on it would still be the person that had left, or a cold corpse, a blaring 'I told you so,' to his intuition which should have been more firm in denying that whole excursion. He should have just hypo-sprayed Jim's ass, but he knew his friend far too well. To save the crew and the _Enterprise_, Jim would have taken a million hypo-sprays.

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Spock could see the inner turmoil running amok inside of the good doctor, almost a mirror of the war being waged inside his own consciousness.

He had only felt regret once before in his life. After losing his mother in the destruction of Vulcan, he carried the deep regret of having never told her how much he loved her. He remembered something she had told him once:

"_To regret something is to hang yourself with your own noose. Mental suicide."_

Looking away from McCoy, Spock's eyes fell onto the transporter pad, anxiously awaiting the return of his Captain in whatever shape he was in.

He regretted having never told Jim that he _did_ consider him a friend. That deep down, far below stoicism and logic, and every Vulcan tradition, he _loved_ Jim in a way he feared he would never be able to express.

He would regret never having another illogical chess match. He would miss the way Jim would pry into him, ever so innocently, or the way it felt when Jim would slap him on the shoulder, or brush past him. He would regret having never been honest with himself and Jim.

Lost in the swirl of emotion, Spock forced himself out of his reverie. He shook his head, hoping to just clear everything from his mind.

He couldn't be sure that Jim was dead.

Logically, there was a chance that he was still alive.

Logically.

Logically.


	3. To Reacquaint Oneself

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"Energizing." Scotty's thick accent cut through the silence, building tension. There was a knot forming in the stomachs of everyone present. The whirr of the machinery wasn't loud enough to be heard over the heartbeats thundering in their ears. Palms were slick with sweat. Muscles tightened until it felt that they would just rip their ligaments and tear from the bone.

Swirls of light danced on the transporter pad.

Nobody moved.

For a split second everything just seemed to slow down to an infinitely slow speed. Breathing became difficult.

When the light dissipated, a thin form was laying in a heap on one of the pads. The breathing was shallow. Clothes were covered in dust and debris.

Bones' rushed over to the Captain, running the tricorder over the motionless body, a sigh of relief falling from his lips.

Spock realized that he had been holding his breath.

"Can you give me a hand getting him down to sickbay?" Bones asked, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure that Spock had heard him, but did not await acknowledgement.

Spock felt shaky, but he didn't show it. He carefully lifted the body of his Captain into his arms and quietly followed McCoy to the medical bay, stealing brief glances at the serene face of the man who always seemed to have a smile on his face. That damned cocky grin that had won everyone over, even Spock.

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"Is there anything wrong with him, Doctor?" Spock asked, calmly. Bones waved the sensor once more over Jim, glancing up at the monitors above the biobed.

"From what I can see, there's nothing wrong with his biological systems." He took the chart from Nurse Chapel as she walked up. "All the tests show that everything is working properly. If there's anything wrong with him, it would be psychological, and we wouldn't know if there was anything until he wakes up." There was a nervous tone in Bones' voice.

"Don't worry yourself over this for the time being, Doctor." Spock stated.

"I wish that could mean something, Spock." McCoy whispered, forlorn. "What happened to him on that planet?" He mused to himself.

Spock couldn't help but wonder the same thing.

Suddenly there was movement from the bed. Both men turned to see Jim struggling against the weariness of his muscles to sit up. His ice blue eyes scanned the room quickly. Dozens of emotions flashed in those frigid irises.

"Where am I?"

"You're in sickbay, Jim."

"Sickbay where?" Jim asked forcefully. He stared down McCoy.

"Sickbay on the _Enterprise_, Captain." Spock answered.

"The _Enterprise_? Isn't it that spaceship that was getting put together? How the Hell did I end up here?" Jim asked, hoping off the table to walk around the medical bay.

"What are you talking about?" Bones' asked, eyes wide in shock. Jim turned around to look the doctor in the face, not putting down the trinket he had plucked off the desk.

"Oh, Hell. I know why you look so familiar. You're that guy from the shuttle, right?" When he saw the confused look on Bones' face, he laughed a little. "You know, on the way to the Academy. You wouldn't sit down, and the stewardess had to force you to sit, and you told me that you might throw up on me talking about your_ aviaphobia_ and then went on to tell me about all the ways we could have died in that shuttle." Jim laughed a bit to himself before taking a good look at Spock. "You, I haven't seen you before."

Spock felt crushed. He felt the air being forced out of his lungs. He could only stare back at the Captain.

"Jim, have you forgotten _everything_?" McCoy asked, shocked. "You don't remember Nero?"

"Who?"

"Jim… You have lost a part of your memory." The good doctor stated, incredulous.

"Seriously?" Jim asked, looking between the two men. "God, what did I lose? Anything good?"

"You saved the Earth, Captain." Spock stated.

"No shit, really?" He asked, his arrogant grin on his face. "I told that guy that I would be better than my father." He mused to himself for a moment, trying his damnedest to remember some ass-kicking adventure where he rescued the whole goddamned planet. "Wait. Did you call me _Captain_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn. I missed a lot." He turned to the doctor. "You think you could fix this?"

"I'll try my best. Usually amnesiacs regain their memory over a period of time. I'll just have to run a few tests." Bones suddenly went off on some medical tangent, and Jim turned his attention back to the Vulcan.

"So, wanna show me around?" He asked, slapping the man on the shoulder. Spock's body tensed at the touch, shaking ever so slightly. "Don't like to be touched, do ya?" Jim asked, a smile plastered on his face. "Anyway, care to show me _my_ ship?"

"Certainly, Captain."

"Hey, call me Jim."

Spock looked at Jim. Jim as he was now reminded him so much of the trial where he had accused the cadet of cheating on his Kobayashi Maru test. He had that unbridled fire bred from never having a stern hand. That fire was never extinguished, Jim just had better control. Now he was standing toe to toe with that pure cocky attitude, the man who had caused him so much grief, the man he had almost killed.

Those sapphire eyes dug into him, wrenched him. They were the same color, they were the same in every way to _his_ Jim, but this man wasn't his Captain. They weren't the same. There was a softness in the eyes of the Captain he had let beam down onto that planet, and there was a rigid independent loner in the eyes of the man standing before him.

"Follow me, sir." Spock said, walking out of sickbay with his hands clasped behind his back. "Is there any place you would like to see first?"

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"_Damn_." His crystal blue eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. "These are _my_ quarters?" He asked, incredulously. "_Damn_."

Spock chose not to say anything, more interested in studying the new person who took the place of Jim; he could not think of them as the same person.

He watched the intruder walk around the room, rummaging through drawers Spock couldn't think of as his, opening the closets, peeking into the bathroom, before flopping down onto the bed.

"This bed is hella comfortable. I should have become a captain a long time ago."

In spite of himself, Spock was amused by the imposter. He was exactly like that delinquent he had met at the Academy with an undeniable fury that the man had cheated _his _test. Even back then, Spock was drawn to him, attracted to his deadly rebelliousness with the same propensity as a moth to a flame as the old saying went.

Somehow, standing here, watching the new Jim, Spock felt like he had been given a second chance. He felt as if something had given him the opportunity to forge his relationship with Jim in a new direction, a direction which it would never have been able to tread otherwise. He was just too sure that the Jim he knew before this accident would never have allowed them to go there; it was illogical.

But here he felt that he was given another chance. A chance he knew, however, that would be squandered as Spock's rationality and reminded him of the slim chances of reciprocation and his Vulcan half reminding him that love was an emotion he need not feel.

"Hey, let's go check out the bridge." Jim stated, hopping off the bed and walking past Spock, their shoulders touching in brief contact. Spock felt as if he had been electrocuted and he turned as Jim kept walking to watch the back of the retreating man with shock on his face. He composed himself quickly and watched as Jim led them to the bridge, finding it interesting that even having lost his memory, Jim would know where to find the bridge. It just seemed to make sense with the way Jim was; he was always meant to be a captain.

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Jim leaned over Uhura's shoulder, his wide smile on his face. Spock was a little jealous.

"Uhura, right?" He asked.

"Yes… Captain? What exactly are you doing?" She snapped. She respected Jim, but sometimes his games drove her a little crazy.

"Lieutenant?" Spock stated, cutting Uhura out her annoyed thoughts.

"Yes?" She turned around in her chair suddenly, knocking Jim off his balance. She laughed lightly at the sight before turning her attention to Spock. He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice.

"During his time on the planet, the Captain lost all of his memories from his time at the Academy up to today." He whispered, keeping an eye on his wandering captain. He could almost see Sulu's eyes roll when Jim glanced over his shoulder asking him some inane question. Uhura's gasp pulled his attention back to her.

"He doesn't remember anything?" She whispered back.

"Nothing from that time period. Doctor McCoy has run a few tests, but is unable to conclude how he might have lost his memory." He stated. They were interrupted by Jim, sauntering his way back over to them.

"How old is that kid?" He asked, gesturing to Chekov.

"Seventeen, sir." Spock answered.

"Hell." He swore, looking over his shoulder at the kid. When he turned around, he finally took notice of how close Uhura and Spock were. "Hey, am I interrupting?" He asked, sheepishly.

"No, sir." Uhura shot back, staring Jim down.

Just then, a message from McCoy came in breaking the staring contest between the captain and the head communications officer.

"Spock. Bring Jim down here. I have a few more tests I'd like to run." Bones stated before cutting off the message.

"Damn." Jim swore, following slowly behind Spock, praying not to get another hypo jabbed into his neck.

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	4. To Grasp At Hope

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"What tests are you performing now, Doctor?" Spock asked in hushed tones, watching the Captain as he sat in front of a computer.

"I've managed to gather almost every test Jim had taken at the Academy." Bones stated, every once in a while glancing down at the computer that was in scrolling Jim's responses, and grading him.

"What is the purpose of this test?"

"Well, even _you_ have to realize that Starfleet's not going to want a captain with no training commanding the flagship of the Federation. They asked me to do an analysis if whatever of his training he might remember." He stated his attention now almost completely claimed by the scrolling numbers before him. "No _shit_." He almost laughed to himself.

"What is it?"

"He's passing every test." Bones commented. "With flying colors, I mean, _look_ at the results he's getting."

"This reminds me of something that occurred earlier." Spock stated, looking up from the computer to McCoy. "Although he had no recollection of anyone outside of whatever sparse meetings had occurred early in his attendance at the Academy, he seemed to fully remember the entire layout of the _Enterprise_, with few exceptions."

"That's strange." Bones remarked, looking at the Captain, who looked utterly _bored_ with the tests that usual cadets sweated.

"Don't you find it peculiar, that the Captain would be able to retain everything he had learned yet not being able to recall anybody that he has met or even significant events that had occurred?"

"You know, now that you phrase it that way, I can't help but think that whatever had happened, Jim's memory loss was _intentional_." McCoy's features darkened a little past their usual grumpiness into a pale anger. "I still have no clue at how to approach this." He grumbled.

"Do you have any suggestions, Doctor?" Spock asked.

"I don't know." The good doctor replied, flustered. The computer beeped annoyingly, drawing both Spock and McCoy's eyes to it. "Damn. He's finished all the tests." And as if on cue, Starfleet contacted him.

"What do you have to report Dr. McCoy?" The woman asked brusquely.

"He's passed every single test. There's nothing wrong with him physiologically. Aside from the fact that he can't remember a single one of us, I can say nothing else but that he can be cleared for duty starting at tomorrow's Alpha shift." As he spoke, he forwarded the test results to Starfleet. The woman's eyes flickered across the data.

"Impressive." She muttered before turning her deep brown eyes back up. "Clear him." She looked over to Spock. "Keep an eye on him and keep a report on any progress that is made on his condition. We have received your report on the planet and we are looking into it. As of right now, I still stand on the notion that there is no intelligent life on that planet." Spock merely nodded in acknowledgement. "Good day."

Once the communication was cut off, the First Officer and CMO went to where Jim had been seated.

"God, I'd rather you have stabbed me in the neck, Bones." Jim stated, recalling the nickname. It brought a slight smile to McCoy's eyes.

"Yeah, well you're cleared for duty, starting tomorrow."

"No shit?" Jim asked, standing up, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Bones rolled his eyes, unsure of what to make of Jim's enthusiasm. A little part of him was frightened. "You'll be there, right?" He asked suddenly, blue eyes locking with space-black ones.

"Yes, Captain." Spock answered. Jim's characteristic smile spread across his face and something inside him warmed ever so slightly.

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"And… checkmate." He stated arrogantly, a shit-eating grin on his face. He looked up to the space black eyes with triumph in his. "I thought you said you were good at this game," he joked innocently, not intending offense. "I beat you almost half of the games."

"Chess is a game of strategy," Spock stated, eyes moving to examine the board and where he had gone wrong. "However, you seem to have surpassed strategy with your illogical moves. I was not able to predict your movements, which is likely the reason you have managed to be me."

"What? Just can't admit I might be good at this game?"

"Skill and luck are two completely different things." Spock replied, raising one eyebrow, challenging the captain. Jim just smirked and reset the board.

"Want to test that theory?"

"As you wish, Captain."

The break room was unusually quiet, most likely due to the fact that most of the crew was in the mess halls. The noise level raised a few decibels when Scotty walked in, his shift over in engineering.

"Hey, Captain." He called, dropping into the chair next to Jim. "Long day, hasn't it been?" Jim just laughed.

"I was stuck in sickbay taking tests for four hours. Don't preach to me about a long day." His sapphire eyes shined in the harsh overhead lights. Spock couldn't help but notice.

"Aye." Scotty leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, looking at the chessboard. His face was clouded as he tried to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say. He sighed in defeat. "So I heard you cannae remember anything, Captain."

"Yeah." Jim's tone dropped into a more pensive one.

"Can you remember anything about the planet?" He pressed, concerned for his friend.

"No. I can't really remember anything from before waking up in sickbay."

"Well no use sounding like a seagull screchin' on a wire." Scotty replied, earning a confused glance from Jim. The look cracked Scotty up, and Jim followed suit. "Am pure done in, so I'll see you tomorrow, Captain." The Scotsman said, patting Jim's shoulder as he stood up to leave. "Evening, Spock." He called before heading out of the room.

"Do you understand him?"

"Sometimes I find his vernacular quite peculiar."

"Yeah, that's just a polite way of saying you don't know what he's saying." Jim accused.

Spock shrugged the comment off, turning his attention back to the game.

"Checkmate, Captain."

"What?" Jim exclaimed, looking down. "Damn." He laughed. He picked up the pieces and reset the board. "Rematch. I think you cheated when I wasn't looking."

"It would be illogical to cheat, Captain."

"Lighten up, Spock." Jim replied, smiling. He picked up a pawn and moved it. "Your move."

"Yes, my move indeed." Spock stated, briefly looking into the Captain's eyes before glancing at the board.

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"I'm pretty sure that's what happened." Sulu replied, sternly. "You _beat_ the Kobayashi Maru test. You _had_ to have cheated."

"I was there and I still don't believe it." Bones stated.

"I bet that's why you got involved with that girl…" Sulu thought out loud.

"Her name was Gaila, Sulu." Uhura snapped, still not over the death of her friend.

"Sorry."

Spock sat at the other end of the table, reading through one of the many messages he needed to respond to.

"Did he cheat?"

Engrossed in the multitude of messages, Spock didn't hear the question.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Did he cheat?" Sulu repeated, slightly annoyed.

"Did who cheat what?"

"Did Jim cheat on the test, on the Kobayashi Maru?"

"I most certainly believe that was the case." Spock answered, looking back down to the P.A.D.D. in front of him.

"Aw, couldn't you have stood up for me?" Jim asked with a pout.

"Standing up would not have changed my opinion." Spock replied, not looking up from his work. "I programmed that test, and there was no way for you to have accomplished what you did."

"There's no such thing as a no-win situation." Jim stated.

Just then Spock looked up, catching the resolute look in Jim's eyes. The same look that was in them at the his trial, the same one that was in them on the _Narada_, the same one that was in them when he ordered Scotty to beam him down onto that planet.

That was the think about him; he knew what he believed in and was confident with himself. It was awe-inspiring. It came off as arrogance most of the time, because god knows Jim was arrogant anyhow, but he was _sure _of himself and what he stood for, something that Spock himself questioned.

Spock merely turned his eyes down, unable to formulate a response to Jim's statement.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It had been another long day on the bridge, and everyone had spent most of the day trying their damnedest not to just fall right out of their chairs. A long day was a slow day, and god, this day must have been the slowest. Each minute had inched by at an inanely slow speed.

Jim was kept awake merely by the twenty plus cups of coffee, and his jumpy actions over the course of the day were what had kept Spock from slipping out of consciousness.

It was particularly talkative in the officer's mess. But the table Jim had seated himself at was louder than any other. Surrounding the Captain sat McCoy, Scotty, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, Nurse Chapel, and a couple of ensigns. Spock was forced by Jim to sit with everyone, but he maintained his distance from the multitude of people, far too many for his taste.

He overheard the people sharing stories with Jim, in essence recapping his entire life. Of course the stories were not perfect, as they are skewed by individual perception, but nevertheless, while Bones was still working on how to reverse Jim's current state, those stories were the only things he had to remember his own life.

Jim's face was unusually somber as he listened to his life, occasionally cracking a smile. Spock remembered Jim looking at him sorrowfully when Scotty recalled to him the destruction of Vulcan. Spock vaguely remembered seeing the sympathetic look on Uhura's face when she spoke of the death of his mother and her friend Gaila. The relation of the _Narada_ incident was a group effort between Uhura, Scotty and Bones, with various points filled in by Chekov and Sulu like the battle on the rigging on the _Narada_ or Chekov's miracle that saved both Sulu's and Jim's life. Bones reminded Jim of how he had gotten the Captain on the _Enterprise_ after he had been forbidden to do so as a mild way of humbling Jim, and Uhura remarked on his lisp and swollen hands.

Over the course of those three hours, Jim had gotten some idea of who he had been in those years that he had lost. Spock spoke only a few times when he had been addressed but for the most part he just listened and observed. Jim seemed a little different after hearing all about his life. Of course, it didn't change him drastically. There's a fine line between knowing something and having _felt_ it, _experienced_ it. But in any case something seemed different about him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"You turning in this early?" Jim asked as the two of them walked the hallways. Spock couldn't help but notice how Jim seemed to follow him around like an abandoned dog, attaching itself to the first thing to show it kindness.

"There are a lot of things that I need to finish from this afternoon."

"Do you ever just take a break?" Jim questioned, exasperated. "Every time I see you, you're working on something."

"There are a lot of things that need to be done, Captain."

"But don't you ever want to just _not_ think about reports for awhile and just _have a good time_?"

"I have no qualms with working."

"You're impossible, Spock." Jim laughed.

"I cannot be 'impossible,' Captain, that would be illogical." Jim only looked at him accusingly.

"Are you ever not analyzing or thinking, Spock? Seriously. I need to get you to live a little if it kills me."

Spock said nothing until they reached the corridor containing the rooms of the senior officers. Jim seemed to be preoccupied with something at the other end of the hallway, and Spock crossed in front of him to his door, punching in the code for the door to slide open.

"Hey, wait." Jim said suddenly, grabbing Spock's arm impulsively. The Vulcan's entire body tensed, but Jim didn't let go. Spock turned to face his captain. "I have to ask you something." Jim let go of his First Officer's arm and turned his head to the side slightly; an expression of nervousness, Spock noted.

"Yes, Captain?" Spock inquired, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"I just wanted to ask you if there was anything that you wanted to tell me about the time I had forgotten."

"I do not recall anyone missing anything significant."

"Okay, subtlety not going to work here," Jim sighed, looking down at the floor momentarily, gathering his thoughts and his confidence. "Were we in a relationship before… what happened?" He asked, voice fallen almost to a whisper. He searched Spock's eyes trying to read what was in them. The Vulcan's silence caused his hands to shake. He suddenly regretted asking, wondering if he had crossed a line he should have steered clear of.

Spock's heart stuttered in his chest. He was sure it had skipped a beat and now it thundered loud inside his head. He shifted his weight and took in a deep breath. He felt as if those shining blue eyes were looking right inside of him and it made him uncomfortable.

What was he going to say. He couldn't lie; Vulcans _couldn't _lie. He wanted to, god did he, but he would be taking advantage of Jim. But deep down, something reminded him that he wanted to, that he wanted to tell Jim that he had loved him, because that was what Spock had longed for. He had never been able to voice his feelings because they were illogical, the entire situation was improbable, if not impossible. From everything he had known about Jim, a relationship for them was as unlikely as water in the desert, as much as Spock had wanted it.

But here was a moment where Spock could possibly be in reach of everything he wanted.

Could he do it?

Could he lie?

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	5. To Avoid the Question

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Jim turned his face away, unable to look into those eyes any longer. He felt as if he had been drowning in them.

It was unbearably quiet.

Jim had begun to really regret having said something, but he could have sworn that there was something about the two of them that screamed "more than friends."

With his foot firmly placed in his mouth, because if he had already crossed the line, going further over it wouldn't make much of a difference, he attempted to explain himself.

"Uhm, Spock," He began, the English language failing him. "See, I just _felt_ that there was something. You know?" He asked futilely. He didn't even understand what he was saying. He ventured a look back to those obsidian eyes, reflective, as if they were a mirror. He tried to find some emotion in them, and found the slightest trace of hesitance and something far harder to pinpoint. He wanted to crack open those eyes; he didn't like that he couldn't read the man like a book. "I just felt that something was there. You have been around me since I woke up and when you're not around it just feels weird, do you understand what I'm saying?" He sighed. "I sure as Hell don't. This is really hard to explain. I'm just trying to say that after all the time we spent together so far, it just seemed obvious to me that there must have been something. Does that make any sense?"

"Captain… I…" Spock _felt_ nervous. It didn't show in his face, but his hands, hidden behind his back, were trembling. Under the look in Jim's eyes Spock felt as if he would just shake apart. He loved those eyes, but right now he would give anything to be out of their gaze. He felt locked in place, and under their gentle scrutiny, he was finding it harder and harder for him to admit that he needed to tell the truth.

"Captain!" Someone called from down the hall. Jim angrily snapped his head in the direction of the distraction and Spock took the opportunity to slip into his quarters, the door sliding shut instantly. The Vulcan sighed in relief, still facing the door. He jumped when Jim pounded on the door.

"Spock!"

Luckily, the ensign called for the Captain again, and hearing the frustration in his sigh, Spock figured that Jim would let this slide for now, having to deal with the ensign and whatever he had done wrong that needed to be fixed.

Spock leaned against the door and tried to calm himself down.

He had, as Jim would say, dodged the bullet this time, but he wasn't going to be able to avoid Jim, and would eventually have to come face to face with that question again and answer it.

The inevitability of that situation wasn't what bothered him, however. What bothered him was that fact that he wasn't sure if he would be able to keep himself from lying.

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	6. To Admit His Feelings

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That day was especially tense on the bridge. Neither Jim nor Spock were able to look at each other. Jim wanted answers. Spock wished he had one.

Spock didn't manage to get any sleep the previous night; he had kept himself up all night meditating in a last ditch effort to be able to control his emotions unlike yesterday. He had not been prepared for Jim's question and so many different thoughts warred inside of him.

On one hand, Spock knew that he had to tell Jim the truth. McCoy had informed him that over time, Jim would get back his memory, and the last thing Spock wanted was to be rejected and despised once Jim knew better. There was too much at stake for him to be so careless and selfish.

On the other hand, Spock wanted with a passion to lie to Jim. Even though he would never admit it out loud, he felt something for his Captain that transcended their current relationship. When Jim would touch him, or lean over him while they were on the bridge to talk to him, when they were impossibly close, Spock felt it hard to keep himself in control. He feared the repercussions of what he desired, but that didn't dampen the fire; it fueled it. His fear made this chance all the more beautiful, made him all the more _desperate_. He was afraid he would give in, and he was afraid that he wouldn't.

He started to feel uncomfortable and couldn't sit still. His hands were fidgety and his eyes couldn't look everywhere fast enough. To someone with a trained eye, he almost looked anxious. Jim picked up on his First Officer's unusual behavior and got up from the command chair.

Resting his hands on the top of Spock's chair he leaned over the other man's shoulders until his lips were at the Vulcan's ear. Spock shivered, the movement almost unperceivable, but Jim caught it.

"You. Me. Tonight. My quarters. I'm getting an answer." Jim stated, watching the tips of his First Officer's ears flush a pale green. He smirked in triumph before falling back into his chair.

He felt undeniably smug. He had always relished in being able to make people melt under his charms, and he would be damned if there were someone who could resist them.

But there was something different about this moment. It didn't feel like it usually did when he hooked his target. Something inside him felt as if it were on fire, consuming, burning him from the inside out. It was unfamiliar territory for him. Different, but in the best of ways. He was anxious for the shift to be over and time couldn't move fast enough for him at the moment.

Doubt and what he could now define as desire worked their ways through his body gripping him and pulling in opposite directions. It was exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. This was something he had never felt before and there was something intoxicating about it.

He stole a glance over at the Vulcan, whose back was still turned to him. Jim watch his lithe fingers fly over the keypad in front of him, the rhythm of it understated yet calming and enticing. Jim's overactive imagination and sex drive through his mind into thoughts of those fingers dancing over his skin with the same proficiency as they had with those keys on the computer.

Jim had to tear his eyes away for fear of the rest of his body reacting at the sight, and that would sure as Hell be hard to explain.

He turned his attention to what was going on, distracting himself by casually flirting with Uhura and talking to the young Russian prodigy about all the things Jim could only hope to understand. Every once and a while, however, Jim couldn't help but glance over at Spock, and when their eyes met, he felt the fire inside of his flare almost to an intense pain but at the same time an intense pleasure.

He glanced at the time and swore.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Spock's body could barely control the anticipation that was welling dangerously inside of him. He felt as if he would explode. It felt as if he was falling apart violently in every direction. The sensation was overpowering, overwhelming and he never wanted it to go away.

When he caught Jim's eye a thrill ran though him.

He had never felt this way before. He had never been so consumed by emotion in his entire life. It was slowly fraying the edges on all the Vulcan control he had prided himself in mastering.

Despite how much he loved all these emotions, he regretting feeling them. He had sworn to honor the Vulcan way, even sacrificing his love for his own mother to follow his father's people, and he felt as if he was dishonoring his mother with the way he was behaving.

He felt conflicted.

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He walked through the hallways briskly, avoiding people as much as was possible and cutting conversations short when he couldn't avoid them. The anticipation was unbearable.

With all the thoughts festering inside of him, he wanted relief; he wanted for all the pressure of doubt to be absolved.

Spock had disappeared from the bridge as soon as his shift had ended, and Jim hadn't seen him in over two hours. Jim felt a something a little short of anger bubble inside of him when he thought that Spock would attempt to avoid him tonight.

There was no way he would let the Vulcan slip through his fingers. He was far too stubborn to give up on something that he wanted, and once he got a hold on what he wanted, he was hard to shake off. Spock had another thing coming if he thought he could weasel his way out of this.

All the feelings Jim had before about Spock had intensified to the point where he was damn near positive that something had occurred between himself and his First Officer, the only thing he couldn't understand was the other man's hesitance. Of course, he knew the relationship was unorthodox, but Jim was never one to follow the rules. He thought that maybe Spock was hesitant because he had lost his memory and was unsure how he would respond if he had mentioned it.

Jim was determined to get what he wanted.

And he wanted Spock.

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He could barely catch his breath.

He was sitting in the middle of the floor, meditating, trying to calm the storm raging inside of him. It was becoming hard to handle and he felt as if he was going to go mad. Having dammed these emotions inside of him for so long, their sudden release was painful, and he felt a headache clawing at the outer edges of his mind.

This was far too much for him to handle right now, but he knew that he didn't have a lot of time. He wouldn't be able to get away from Jim. His evasion yesterday tripled the tension in his Captain, and it made him nervous. He didn't want to hurt the person he desired, he didn't want to turn him away and ruin everything, but he wasn't sure that he would be able to stand up underneath all the emotional turmoil with letting himself fall in love. He didn't want to drown in the flood.

He was stalling at this point, wondering how long Jim's patience would hold out before he came pounding on Spock's door, demanding him to come out. He didn't want to make his Captain angry, but he was too frightened to move. He trembled.

He clenched his hands at his sides, fingernails boring slight crescents into the palms of his hands. The pain sent his thoughts from his worry, the feeling grounding him and forcing him to realize that all of this was really happening and that he needed to _something_ before it was too late and he lost his chance.

He stood up shakily, changing quickly into the black uniform he only wore off duty before stepping outside into the corridor.

He was shocked to see Jim in front of him. His Captain leaned in closer, his voice falling to a whisper.

"I was beginning to think you were trying to evade me." His voice was luscious and deep and entrancing. Spock retained his composure and tried to back away slightly from his Captain, his control wavering in such close proximity. In response Jim clasped his hand around Spock's wrist tightly. "Oh, no. You are not getting away this time. Not until I get what I want. And I always get what I want." He whispered, right in the Vulcan's ear, cherishing the gasp that was almost inaudible.

Jim proceeded to pull Spock to his quarters, locking the two of them inside. He had waited far too long for this moment. He did not want any interruptions. This moment was his and he didn't want anything to mess it up. Not this time.

"I told you what I felt, as confusing as it was. Now answer me. Were we together?" His voice still had that commanding tone to it, yet there was a yearning in it that Spock picked up.

His heart thundered in his chest and he felt electricity running into his skin from where Jim's hand grasped his arm. He opened his mouth but couldn't think of what to say. There were too many thoughts inside of his head. He couldn't organize them in any cognizant way and feared he wouldn't be able express what he wanted. He felt slightly panicked.

Now everything was down to the wire. He had to choose whether he wanted to express his desire opening a new door for the two of them, a door Jim seemed eager to open, or if he wanted to deny himself everything he wanted for cold logic and the fear that everything would come crumbling down around him violently one day.

Did he want to regret letting himself love Jim and be loved in return for however long this would last or would he rather regret having lied to himself and locking his desire away to gnaw at him and mock him.

He looked deep into those cerulean eyes, sparkling with anticipation, desire, and fear.

His voice failed him, as if his body was obstinately fighting the decision he wanted to make. He wanted to tell Jim that they had been together, that they were lovers, but logic and his Vulcan heritage fought the emotion tugging at Spock's resolve.

"Spock?" Jim asked, his voice noticeably softer.

"Yes." He lied. His mind split in half as if his body was trying to tear itself apart, as if each half of himself resented the other. It was illogical to lie; there was no benefit from the action, but the human half of Spock rebelled against the idea, like it had the Vulcan counsel. This lie threw open a door that had remained locked for so long and it was liberating, and frightening and he wanted this so bad.

Jim had barely registered the word. Having gotten the answer he sought after, he didn't know what to do with it. He had never felt so out of place, so unsure of himself, of what should happen next.

He felt regret. If it was so hard for Spock to mention it, it must hurt him that he couldn't remember their relationship.

"I'm sorry that I can't remember." He whispered. Easing his grip on the Vulcan's arm, yet not willing to let go completely. "I'll make it up to you." He promised with a smile.

That smile drove Spock crazy. He leaned down impulsively and pressed his lips to Jim's. They were soft and warm against his own. The kiss was innocent and light, because he had never been experienced with this part of desire. However, where he lacked in expertise, Jim made up for it tenfold and he held Spock's head tenderly in his other hand and pressed his lips harder against his. Jim's tongue slipped in between his lips and teased Spock's.

The Vulcan seemed to feel himself run on his impulses, consciously unsure of what to do with his body. He parted his lips to allow Jim's tongue to invade his mouth, running sensuously along his own tongue, trailing lightly against the roof of his mouth. He moved his tongue against his Captain's, pressing against the muscle before wrapping his lips around it and sucking in slightly, drawing a moan from Jim. The noise drove him mad. He wanted to hear it again. It was beautiful and sexy and enthralling.

And it was all his.

If for only this moment, Jim was all his.

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	7. To Feel Vulnerable

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Spock pulled his wrist out of his Captain's grip and held the sides of Jim's head in his powerful hands. He kissed his Captain deeper, harder, their lips crushed together, teeth clicking, tongues delving as deep as they could. He closed the distance between the two of them and Jim grabbed Spock's hips and pulled them together. His Captain was far more reactive to the feeling than he was himself, but he couldn't deny that a tremor rocked through him when the planes of their bodies were flush against each other.

He broke the kiss, and his eyes glided across Jim's face, taking in every detail; he never wanted to forget anything about this. Jim's eyes were closed, lips still parted slightly. Spock could hear the faint gush of air rush past those bruised lips as he panted. Everything was beautiful, but he wanted to see his eyes.

Spock leaned forward, their lips barely touching, before he spoke in a soft whisper.

"Open your eyes." His lips brushed his Captain's as he spoke. When Jim's lust-filled baby blues lock with his, his breath hitched. The look in those eyes was for him, _because_ of him. He had never had this much control over anyone before. It was carnal, intoxicating and powerful all at the same time. Spock dragged his tongue lightly against Jim's bottom lip, drawing a moan from those lips. In this moment, he had perfect control over his Captain. In this moment he could give what those eyes begged for, or he could deprive him of it.

He backed away from Jim a fraction of an inch and smirked to himself when Jim leaned forward. Spock pushed him back, and brought his lips to Jim's jaw line. He pressed one soft kiss there before running his tongue along Jim's skin. Spock then, ever so cautiously bit down, then kissed the reddening skin. He was enthralled by Jim's movements, his leaning into every touch, every kiss, the sound that escaped his throat that was somewhere between a startled gasp and a strangled moan when Spock had bit him. His Captain's reactions were fueling a fire he didn't know was running rampant inside of him, consuming, burning. Where Jim's hands touched his skin as they slid underneath his shirt, Spock felt as if they were pulling the fire out from his core, and it burned until he thought he was going to melt. His stomach twisted. The inferno inside him blazed agonizingly, building, and it needed more.

Jim's lips, much cooler than his skin, pressed against his neck, and a chill ran through him, tangling with the firestorm inside of him, and his body ached.

This was too good and too much.

Jim's lips trailed down his neck, soft, a light, featherlike touch that gently drove him insane. Jim's fingertips trailed gently underneath his shirt. Spock gasped lightly, keeping his reactions minimal. As Jim's lips and fingers teased him, the Vulcan became suddenly aware of his loss of control.

He leaned down, recapturing Jim's lips while simultaneously pulling his Captain's hands from under his shirt. The skin where those hands had been flared with desire, longing for Jim's cooling touch, but he ignored it.

Moving his mouth down his Captain's neck, he found a spot there so sensitive that Jim gasped and nearly fell forward, his semi-captive hands pressed firmly against his First Officer's chest. Spock worried at this spot for a while, fully enjoying the way Jim reacted.

Not pausing his ministrations, Spock quickly surveyed the area, not that he didn't have the layout of the quarters mapped out in his brain, but in the haze, he didn't trust much outside of what he could feel or see. He judged the distance between where they stood and his Captain's bed before turning his full attention to the man in his grasp.

He let his hands slide off his Captain's wrists and was surprised when Jim stepped back. His heart stopped momentarily, and his eyes snapped up to meet the mildly amused cerulean eyes of his Captain. He had thought he had gone too far, or crossed a line, but the look in those eyes eased his anxieties. He sighed lightly to himself. He should have known that, amnesiac or not, Jim would play around with him. That had always been a part of their relationship; Jim's apparent hobby to tease him.

A smile crept its way onto Jim's face, at the look on Spock's. The look of frustration, both sexual and otherwise, desire and apprehension that were present vividly in the Vulcan's eyes, if only slightly etched on his face, was somehow undeniably sexy to him. He could sense his First Officer's hesitance, and to be honest, he was insecure as well, but for a different reason. He had never been the kind of person to be involved in a relationship, unless you defined 'relationship' as 'one night stand.'

It was entirely unromantic, given the circumstances, but Jim couldn't help but wonder what had truly happened between the two of them when he still had his memory of the past few years. He wondered how, even considering everything that had happened from what he remembered and what he had forgotten, a version of himself had fit effortlessly into the idea of monogamy and love.

He had always sworn off love, a product of a childhood gone sadly awry with a distant mother, a stepfather with medieval ideas of childrearing and an older brother who had abandoned his family as soon as he had been able. He had been nothing other than a backwards country boy, drunk half the time, picking fights the other half. He was jaded and edgy and angry and lost and deep down broken and confused. Love was something that died with his father and he never believed the words when they were said to him.

So, how, here, can he feel completely at ease hearing he had given himself over to someone else, captive in their touch, hanging on their words, feeling lost when they aren't around, angry when they were being avoidant, _anxious_ thinking they didn't love him. How had this happened?

What was different here?

The Vulcan's hands were like an inferno engulfing him, holding possessively, tenderly.

There was something in his touch that was different from every other time he had felt hands on skin. Under the desperation of desire, there was something deeper, far more meaningful than three words that could be misleading or misused, something carnal, passionate and undeniably truthful to a fault. While Jim wasn't sure if this was love, he knew it was something he needed, _craved_.

While Jim explored his reverie, Spock stopped what he had been doing, insecure with himself and unable to gauge Jim's reactions. He found it illogical that while he desired complete control over the situation, he was entirely unsure of how to proceed. The paradox was grating on him, because he was unable to control himself and the emotions he usually held in check. When he felt Jim's hands on his back he tensed.

"Hey, relax, will you?" Jim whispered in his ear, his voice deep and husky with a tone echoing the one reverberating in his own heart. He was taken by surprise when Jim pulled Spock into the room and pushing him down onto the soft mattress, his superior strength compromised by his inner turmoil. His eyes were wide and uncertain as he stared up at the sky blue eyes hovering above him. The ice blue eyes hovering over him softened and Jim leaned down and pressed his lips to his forehead.

Suddenly, Spock felt as if he was going to just break down and cry. He felt overwhelmed, and the softness in that simple kiss wrenched him. He swallowed those thoughts and compartmentalized them, at least for the time being. He figured that if Jim had expected anything from this encounter, what was happening right now definitely was not what he would have had in mind, but Spock was losing the battle against every thought and emotion in his head and that fire inside him was being suffocated.

Despite trying to hide his being overwhelmed to the point of tears, he heard a small, choked sob escape his throat and he closed his eyes.

Jim was shocked at the noise that Spock had made. It was tormented and sad, and it took his breath away. Something inside of him sparked and all he wanted was to never hear that sound again. He kissed his First Officer tenderly before kissing his temple softly, the corner of his eye, the tip of his ear, a slow, soft pace, just to calm the pounding of the heart he could feel beneath him. He shifted the two of them in the bed so they were lying on their sides, his Vulcan First Officer curled into him, more human in this moment than he had ever been in his whole life.

Despite his extreme vulnerability in this moment, Spock was comfortable here.

He held onto his Captain tightly, not ready to let go.

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	8. To Take the Plunge

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His alarm clock buzzed agonizingly loud inside of his head. He felt slightly hung-over and there was a lot of noise out in the hallway. He suddenly snapped awake, sitting bolt upright, glancing at the clock and seeing that he was fifteen minutes late for his shift and there were a plethora of messages all saying the same thing, "where the Hell are you," of course, not in so many words.

Even in his frantic attempt to get ready, Jim noticed that he was alone, no trace of what had happened the night before, and no explanation of the emptiness. He felt a little hollow, like he lost some part of himself.

Half dressed, Jim snatched a clean shirt from the closet and ran down the corridor to the turbolift whilst trying to put his shirt on. A few of the ensigns stared at him with bewildered expressions, but he noticed a greater few shrugging off the sight as if they have seen it all before or had no doubts it would something he would do. He chuckled a bit as the lift sped towards the bridge.

He managed to right his clothing just in time for the lift doors to open.

"`Morning." He stated quickly, trying to pretend he hadn't been late before sitting down.

"Where were you? I was about to send McCoy after you." Uhura chided, turning in her seat to give Jim a disapproving glance.

"Sorry. I slept through my alarm this morning."

"Means you had too much to think about when you went to bed yesterday. You shouldn't worry about things at night. You're supposed you rest at night. You worry when you sit in that chair." She stated, again facing her console. Jim sighed, knowing she was right.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Spock seated at the science station, seemingly entranced by whatever data was scrolling on the screen. Jim watched him silently for a few minutes, every once and a while glancing everywhere else, making sure the world wasn't coming down. Certain no Earth-shattering disaster would occur in the next five minutes, he got out of the command chair and meandered over to the science station, pretending to be as calm as possible and not as anxious as he felt.

Jim rested his hand on the back of Spock's chair, his knuckles lightly pressed against the Vulcan's back, and leaned over his First Officer's shoulder, pretending to be looking over the data on the screen.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, loud enough only for Spock to be able to hear him.

Spock glanced at his Captain out of the corner of his eye, unsure of how to answer. His guilt for lying to him was swirling inside of his head, ravaging the edges and urging to flay him open to reveal the truth; a truth he hated more than anything.

"I am fine." He responded stiffly. The light touch in between his shoulder blades was making him uncomfortable and relaxed at the same time.

"So is 'fine' the reason I found you gone this morning?" His asked, his voice containing the faintest trace of scorn and disappointment.

"I'm sorry." Once those words spilled from his lips, Spock bit his tongue. When had he ever used those words in his entire life?

"Sorry doesn't explain anything." Jim stated, briefly analyzing Spock with a fleeting glance.

"About yesterday. I shouldn't have said anything. I…" Spock didn't know what he wanted to say and was frustrated. His remorse over his lie was guiding his tongue, yet it was confused as well. "I just… shouldn't have said anything." He repeated, at a loss for words.

"So, what? You want to pretend that nothing happened?" Jim asked, a slight growl in his voice. "Are we just going to pretend that yesterday was just a bad dream? Why? Because you're afraid of how I feel?"

"No, because I…" Spock attempted to confess, but he was interrupted.

"I'm not sure how I feel about all of this, but I don't want to just give up." He leaned in unbearably close and quickly placed a chaste kiss on the tip of his First Officer's ear before leaning away. "I'm willing to test the waters. So long as I don't get drowned."

Spock's fingers twitched and paused in their typing and his eyes widened a fraction at the kiss. It weighed heavily on his guilt, but something inside of him cherished it, and quelled the rage of remorse, if only temporarily.

"I'll see you tonight on the Observation Deck." There was no question in the statement.

Spock couldn't help but turn in his seat and watch his Captain as he returned to the command chair. Jim's warm, slightly lop-sided smile spread across his face and he leaned forward in his chair to antagonize Sulu and Chekov, and the faintest of smiles upturned the corners of Spock's lips as he readjusted himself in his chair and continued working.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Spock was already there when Jim arrived, and the captain smiled, somehow knowing this would happen. He walked up as quietly as he could, wanting to observe his First Officer before his presence was known.

He stood, back straight as an arrow, hands clasped tightly in the small of his back. It was all so formal and tense, and Jim wanted to massage those shoulders, release the tension in those hands. The muscles were coiled so tightly Jim could see the Vulcan shaking slightly.

When Jim was close enough to touch, he was standing behind Spock, slowly working the other man's hands out of the grip they had on each other, taking each one into his own hand. That simple touch had the Vulcan trembling. Jim released one of Spock's hands, but encased the other one with both of his, working his thumbs into the flesh of Spock's palm, slowly dragging his fingertips down the Vulcan's fingers, smiling at the gasp that escaped Spock's throat at the touch that was so innocent for humans but held a different meaning for Vulcans.

There was something erogenous about this touch, and although it didn't have the same sensitivity for himself, Jim could feel electricity crackling up his fingertips emanating off of the other man.

Jim couldn't place where this knowledge came from. It was like a faint memory pushing at the corners of his mind, something he had learned off hand during the time he had forgotten; something he had learned because of some misstep with his First Officer that he had been possessed to investigate.

He gently released his First Officer's hand, moving to stand by his side, averting his eyes to glance out the glass pane that unfolded the cold blackness of space out in front of them, stretching impossibly forward forever. In the corner of his eye he could see Spock glancing at him, his eyes as black as space, but warmer, filled with shock, desperation, worry and that same deep, undefined emotion Jim desired. He wanted that encompassing feeling to eradicate everything else, tear down every awkward moment between them and fill him up impossibly until his seams stretch because he wants every ounce of it so bad it might just kill him.

Jim kept his eyes facing forward, humbled by the vastness of the stars reaching farther than he would ever reach. He moved his hand and, slowly, tentatively, twined his fingers with Spock's.

For now, this was what he needed.

No rush of lust, no words. Just their silent connection, standing there, alone on the Observation Deck with nothing but themselves to think about.

He wanted time to try to figure this all out, but he didn't want to be alone.

He tightened his grip on the hand in his, and was thankful when he felt Spock's press lovingly, softly into the back of his hand, warm and comforting.

It helped him to think.

He was scared. He had never been scared of anything before, but standing this close to something so overwhelming, he felt daunted. He stood on the threshold of everything he had ever thought about love, and what love could actually be. He was scared to finally accept it, unwilling to let the same thing that happened to his mother happen to him.

He never wanted to be like her.

But here he was.

He had to make the decision.

He didn't want to step over the threshold and be besieged, beaten down, and left bleeding with nothing to hold onto. But at the same time, he didn't want to lock that open door, because he might never be able to open it again.

Jim felt Spock's hand slowly slide out of his, as if the Vulcan could sense the chaos inside of him. He had to make his choice now.

He had to either let go and close the door or hold on and face uncertainty.

He trembled as he held tighter to Spock's hand. He stole a glance at the other man, shocked to see that beautiful passion reflected deeper in those dark eyes.

Those enrapturing black eyes, faintly brown on the outer edges, beautiful and emotional and screaming everything only Jim could read and Jim pulled him into an embrace, hands still weaved together and pressed a light kiss to his temple.

Spock didn't know how to react, but his heart beat hard and strong in his chest, echoing the longing he felt, his every need fulfilled by something so innocent, something wordless and powerful and amazing, and completely and utterly Jim.

When a million words could have been wasted, a simple touch and a wave of emotions was everything he needed to forget guilt, remorse, and anxiety to let himself be in this moment.

Jim kept their fingers entwined, and just held onto Spock, the uneasy territory he was standing on wavering and rocky, but in this moment it was okay, because he was not alone.

Where a million words could have been wasted, a simple look told him that everything would work out.

He had faith.

He held on.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-


	9. To Attempt the Truth

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It would have been a lie if he said that he wasn't afraid.

Every moment they spent together wore another little hole inside of him, a dull aching reminder that it was all built on a lie, unsteady as a house of cards, waiting, wavering, for the right moment when the risk is the highest to collapse in on itself and leave a broken mess of him and the other infuriated.

All it would take was a memory to tear what he had created along the seam, to rip it open and reveal his treachery and ruin him forever.

He had never been one to take illogical risks.

He could prove the statistics of those such risks to end fatally or futilely almost ninety percent of the time, wasteful and dangerous.

Yet he _needed_ to take this risk. Something inside twisted when he thought about leaving, about revealing the truth. He had never known what regret had been, true, deep, painful regret until he met James.

Before him, he was able to lock away everything that hurt him, to hole it away to a part of himself he locked tight where no one, not even he himself could reach. But James, _Jim_, dug and pried until he could hold those parts of him in his very hands, showing him that it was okay to expose everything he had forced away, holding him gently in those calloused hands and taking everything he had been afraid to give.

This was all too dangerous. It demanded too much, a gluttonous fire that would eventually burn itself out. He was weak and trembling, but he fed the flames with everything he had left, longing to forever be trapped in the dim warmth given off.

However, even in his muted happiness, his logic wrapped tightly around everything and he knew he was taking this too far. He was falling too fast and soon he wouldn't be able to turn back. Soon, he would be sinking too deep to pull himself out.

And that was when his faulty house of cards would fall onto him like a thousand years of heartbreak and pull him under like a wave and drown him.

He couldn't help but admit to that truth, however much he detested it. No matter how much he wanted this, he knew it would eventually fall apart and he could only wish that he'd escape with enough of himself to be able to put everything back together.

When had it turned to this?

When had he become so interwoven with his falsified reality, with whatever he felt for Jim, that he couldn't untangle himself. When had he fallen into this dependence, this _need_ that he could easily wage war with the principles beaten into him as a half-Vulcan child wishing to be just like his father?

He took a deep breath, but it couldn't calm his nerves. He felt slightly jittery, and every inch of his skin felt as if electricity was running through it. He was overly sensitive to the point where it was almost painful.

He kept his eyes shut.

Softly, against his chest, he could feel the faintest of heartbeats emanating from the body cradled in his arms, held protectively close, for he was still nervous.

Everything that felt so beautiful, at the same time, felt harsh and cold, letting him feel everything and hurting him for doing so. Still, he held on tightly, the feeling of Jim's slightly cooler skin soothing against his own, the slight movements of Jim's body as he breathed, the faint musky smell of sex and shampoo and something purely Jim. Everything touched him, hooked into him, and pulling those thorns out tore and bled and he would do anything to prevent that.

He was content here. If nothing ever happened, if he was stuck in this moment forever, he would be comfortable. He would give anything to just lie here with Jim, enraptured in a moment in time too frighteningly fleeting that he dreaded falling asleep to be reminded that everything ends, that this would end, and it was one less day he had left, one less moment.

He was horribly afraid of the end. The idea of it shook him. He tried to push the thought away, bury it, but it was too poignant, too violent and heart wrenching. He held Jim closer, trying to preserve every second of this moment in case this was the last and he could never be here again.

His heart jumped when Jim stirred. Holding him so flush against himself, he could feel the muscles and bones shift and move under Jim's taut, lightly tanned skin. It was intoxicating and tightened a knot in his stomach. There was something undeniably sensual about those small movements.

Slowly, tentatively, the cool fingertips of the man in his arms traced feather-light patterns on the pale skin of his forearm, tracing along the veins on the back of his hand, running along the contours of his long fingers, brushing, ever gracefully, his fingertips, gradually driving him mad. When he felt Jim's soft lips press lightly to his fingertips, he almost lost it.

He didn't realize that he was shaking until he opened his eyes to see his hand, held captive in Jim's quivering. He could still feel those lips barely touching his fingertips, Jim's warm breath washing over them. When the tip of Jim's tongue grazed the pads of his fingers, he gasped, only for it to melt into a moan as Jim took those two fingers into his mouth, wrapping those sensuous lips around them, tongue rolling along the underside, lightly sucking the digits.

He was surprised that Jim had remembered what he had told him about the sensitivity of his fingers. He could barely recall how the conversation had gotten started, but he remembered revealing to Jim that secret, never really anticipating he would ever use that knowledge.

Every thought stopped when Jim nipped gingerly at the tips of his fingers before releasing them from his mouth, leaving Spock with his heart racing, and a sense of loss coiling in his stomach that fueled his desire.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to a spot behind Jim's ear he had discovered was highly sensitive, receiving a beautifully soft moan for his trouble. He freed his hand, and slowly dragged the tips of his fingers down Jim's side, lightly, barely touching, relishing as Jim's back arched, even if it put distance between the two of them.

Here, in this moment, tomorrow didn't matter. For the briefest of times, he could drown out what tomorrow could bring and just _be_.

He pinned Jim down, straddling his hips, and leaned in for a kiss. The feel of those lips against his own, softer, cooler, fuller, eradicated thought. Those talented hands kneaded the knots in his back, loosening the muscles tensed by stress, and he moaned softly into the other man's mouth.

Everything about Jim was perfect, _so perfect_. He felt as if Jim just _fit_ him, as if, down right to their very souls, they meshed, could even become whole, given the best circumstances. But he didn't have those circumstances; nothing about this was right, but he felt that it should be.

He felt like he was in the right place. He felt like everything in him that bled and cried had a home and comfort here. He felt like everything he ever needed and everything he never knew he wanted existed here.

So, how, if everything felt so _right_, can it be that it was all so wrong?

He was angry, but didn't let it show and avoided looking Jim in the eye, knowing those sky blue eyes could read him better than he could ever estimate.

"What's wrong?"

His breath hitched in his throat. When had Jim become able to understand him this way? No one had ever before been attuned to everything he never said or tried to hide. It was frightening and exhausting and beautiful and something he loved.

However he said nothing, unsure of what to say.

He felt Jim's hands on the small of his back, comforting and painful.

"This isn't right." He uttered out without thinking. He closed his eyes and sat back on his calves, running his hands over his face in distress.

Jim sat up and ran his hands along Spock's arms, grabbed those hands, trying to see the Vulcan's face.

"What isn't right?" He prodded, trying to get an answer. When Spock became distant like this, it was painful to watch, painful because he could see how much it hurt Spock to say these things when a light in his eyes pleaded him to say something different.

"This. All of this. It's illogical. We shouldn't be _here_."

Jim pressed his lips to Spock's collarbone tenderly, unable to uncover the man's face.

"I shouldn't have let this happen."

When those words spilled from his lips, Jim grabbed his hands more forcefully, yet at the same time lovingly.

"Why do you keep saying that?" He demanded. He pulled Spock's hands down, away from his face and Jim leaned forward, their lips barely touching. Spock pressed his lips harder against Jim's, closing the distance.

It was these moments that prevented him from being able to tell the truth. These utterly romantic, loving actions force the words out of him, to be forgotten. It had been like this for months. Every time he got close to admitting his lie, Jim would counteract his intentions with some beautiful gesture and Spock would put it off for one more day.

There would come a day where he has to stop lying, but god, if that day comes any day, he prayed it would be tomorrow. Every day he spends here is another hook in his skin, another coil around his heart that will ultimately crush him when the day comes. The longer he stays, the harder it is to leave and the more he has to lose. Eventually, one day, everything he is will be in Jim's hands, and when that happens, he will be condemned.

But he has to wait.

Just one more day.

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AN: Sorry it has taken me so long to update. It was my birthday recently and I was busy all weekend. And then I had way too much work to do, but enough of my excuses! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter (however short it is), and I promise the next one will be up soon.

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	10. To Feel Jealous For the First Time

AN: As per an interesting request, I've decided to write everything you've seen… in Jim's point of view. Figure that would be an interesting turn of events to live in our amnesiac's head for a while before everything ramps up to the conclusion! I do not anticipate this section being nine chapters long, seeing at we would end up with over thirty thousand words before we even get near the ending!

Either way, I hope you enjoy!

PS: Someone asked about the M rated things, and I thought, of the two of them [Spock and Jim], which would be more fixated on sex, and I don't need to tell you who won that vote, so expect some things here.

* * *

"Don't worry yourself over this for the time being, Doctor."

"I wish that could mean something, Spock. What happened to him on that planet?"

Everything hurt. _Badly_.

It felt as if someone had beaten him to within an inch of his life, then hit him with a truck. He wondered if he had gotten drunk and hit on the wrong girl again. Those damned cadets.

He flexed the muscles in his arms, wincing at the pain the shot through them. Were they broken?

He opened his eyes, only to be met with a bright sterile white, accompanied by the harsh smell of medical supplies. He could hear faint talking in the distance. He hated hospitals. They always reminded him of disease.

He was met with an unwelcome surprise when he attempted to sit up, and groaned at the stress he was putting on muscles that felt as if they had been stationary, immobile, for years. Man, that must have been one _Hell_ of a fight.

He managed an upright position and glanced around the room, taking brief note of the two people that stood off to his left a few feet away. He couldn't recognize either of them, nor anything around him, there wasn't a window anywhere, and he briefly wondered what kind of Hellish hospital wouldn't have a window.

Needless to say, he was confused and slightly angry, and although he would never admit it, slightly afraid.

He moved his eyes back towards the two men in the room, locking eyes with each of them in turn, before registering which was the doctor.

"Where am I?"

"You're in sickbay, Jim."

Jim was slightly leery of the man, unsure how he could address him in such a way without even knowing him. He didn't think a doctor would address a patient in such a way.

The other man, however, captivated him. He was tall, paler than the doctor who stood by his side, undoubtedly taller and leaner. His expression was stoic, blank, but Jim saw a fire in those eyes, something intense. He stood silently, thin lips pressed into a tight line as if to prevent himself from saying something.

"Sickbay where?" Jim pressed, annoyed by the doctor's vague answer.

"Sickbay on the _Enterprise_, Captain."

Jim was caught by surprise when the object of his fascination spoke, a deep voice as emotionless as his face.

Registering what he had been told, Jim was twenty times more confused. How had he ended up on a starship?

"The _Enterprise_? Isn't it that spaceship that was getting put together? How the Hell did I end up here?"

He slid off the bio-bed, walking around the medical bay, curiosity getting the better of him. When he was nervous or confused, he tended to take interest in his surroundings as a way to ground himself. He found his way over to what he presumed to be the doctor's desk and started looking through the paperwork and odd trinkets and old-style books piled on the slightly unorganized mess.

"What are you talking about?"

Jim had been pawing aimlessly through the things piled on the doctor's desk, and had been studying an old picture frame, which looked as if it had been made by a child. When he heard the doctor's voice he looked up.

He glanced back down to the photo in the frame, and then back up to the man, struck by a pang of recognition.

"Oh, Hell. I know why you look so familiar. You're that guy from the shuttle, right?" He stated. Despite the confused look on the man's face, he was _sure_ this was right. "You know, on the way to the Academy. You wouldn't sit down, and the stewardess had to force you to sit, and you told me that you might throw up on me talking about your_ aviaphobia_ and then went on to tell me about all the ways we could have died in that shuttle." He laughed a little, recalling the event. That had really brightened his day. When his laughter faded away, he studied the face of the other man, the one far more interesting, tall, angular, emotionless face, perfect posture, but nothing came to mind. He couldn't remember anything about this man. "You, I haven't seen you before."

He could have sworn he saw something project in those black eyes, but he couldn't make it out.

"Jim, have you forgotten _everything_? You don't remember Nero?" There was shock in the doctor's voice.

"Who?"

"Jim… You have lost a part of your memory." The doctor stated, incredulous.

He was overwhelmed by a dull, yet seething anger, but the same time, a raging curiosity. What kind things had he done? What kind of person had he been? Someone better than his father? Something worse? He needed to know.

"Seriously?" Jim asked, glancing between the two men, attempting to gage what information they would give him. "God, what did I lose? Anything good?"

"You saved the Earth, Captain." The taller man answered.

"No shit, really?" He asked, his arrogant grin on his face. "I told that guy that I would be better than my father." He mused to himself for a moment, trying his damnedest to remember some ass-kicking adventure where he rescued the whole goddamned planet. "Wait. Did you call me _Captain_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn. I missed a lot." He turned to the doctor. "You think you could fix this?"

"I'll try my best. Usually amnesiacs regain their memory over a period of time. I'll just have to run a few tests." The doctor suddenly went off on some medical tangent, and Jim turned his attention back to the man he found far more interesting, the one he couldn't remember.

"So, wanna show me around?" He asked, slapping the man on the shoulder. When he felt the other man tense up, he removed his hand quickly. "Don't like to be touched, do ya?" Jim asked, a smile plastered on his face. "Anyway, care to show me _my_ ship?"

He couldn't believe he was able to say that. He was excited and nervous at the same time. Ever since he had spoken with Pike, this was all he had wanted, if only for the sense of adventure or being able to show up what Pike had said, somewhere in the back of his mind, attempting to live up to his father, make him proud. But now that he was here, he had tremendous responsibility. All the people working on this ship depended on him to make the right decisions, to know what he's doing, but he wasn't sure he was able to do those things. His nervousness made him a little jittery, but he tried not to show it.

"Certainly, Captain."

"Hey, call me Jim."

They locked eyes in that moment. He felt as if he was being scrutinized under that gaze. He felt his stomach tightening. He was able to stare anyone down, and this feeling was bizarre to him, but he'd be damned if he looked away first. He felt as if this man could _read_ him, could hear everything he was thinking right now, know everything he was feeling. It was strange.

It ended quickly, and although it had felt like forever, the moment had only been a second or so.

"Follow me, sir." The man said, walking out of sickbay with his hands clasped behind his back. Jim noted the considerable tension in the man's hands. "Is there any place you would like to see first?"

* * *

"_Damn_. These are _my_ quarters?" His crystal blue eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. This room was orders of magnitude better than any other he had ever been in, never mind the rooms he had owned to various degrees. His room in his mother's house had been bleak; stark white walls, the fewest sticks of furniture. His father said it built character. After he moved out of the house, he migrated from motel to motel, ending up in San Francisco. He asked, incredulously. "_Damn_."

He didn't hear a response, nor did he expect one. He glanced back at the man whose name was Spock for the briefest of seconds before exploring _his _room.

He opened the drawers of dressers he still couldn't believe belonged to him. He pulled open the closet doors to see plenty of uniforms, _gold uniforms_. He scanned shelves of things he couldn't ever remember owning. He flew over to the bathroom and found a room bigger than most of the motel rooms he had rented. Finally, he fell backwards onto the bed.

He could barely believe this was all his. He couldn't help but smile.

However, in the corner of his eye, he could see Spock analyzing him, scrutinizing him. It was unsettling. There was something in the way the other man watched him so intently, as if he was _looking_ for something, but what, Jim couldn't imagine. It was clear that before this mess they had known each other, probably well, but how well and to what extent, only Spock knew, and at the moment, he said nothing.

Jim was curious, but, too, said nothing. It was getting hard to be in the glare.

"Hey, let's go check out the bridge." He stated suddenly, pushing himself up off the bed. He walked quickly over to the door and accidentally brushed Spock in the process. He cursed at himself, angry that he would never get anywhere with learning about himself if he kept offending the other man.

He also cursed at himself because he _felt something._

He thought about what that even meant as he walked through the hallways with a clear sense of where he was going, which shocked him.

Trying to cut off his own thoughts, he listened intently for the footsteps of the Vulcan behind him.

* * *

The second they entered the bridge, he looked for anyone that he might be able to recognize. He had drawn nothing but blanks until his eyes fell on the communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura. Although she was beautiful, the sight of her made him shudder ever so slightly, having remembered the fight he had gotten into as the result of his talking to her that day at the bar.

He sauntered over to her and leaned over her shoulder, a huge smile on his face, a smile he always used when he spoke or flirted with women.

"Uhura, right?"

"Yes… Captain? What exactly are you doing?" She snapped. He could tell she was annoyed by the question. He laughed a little to himself. Obviously they had met some other time after that meeting in the bar, and somewhere along the way they had gotten to know each other well enough for her to act like this. It was comforting to know that he had gotten to know better people than all the drunken losers he had known in the past.

"Lieutenant?" The calm, lucid voice of his First Officer called, causing Jim to jump a little.

"Yes?" Uhura asked, turning around in her chair, knocking him off balance. As he struggled to compose himself, he heard her laugh ever so lightly before turning her full attention to Spock. There was some sort of misplaced longing deeply set in her chocolate-brown eyes. When Spock's dark eyes locked with his, he knew that he should go, yet he hesitated, something like jealously blackening his veins.

He walked off, saying nothing, glancing back once before walking over to the navigation panel. He spoke for a minute or two with the Asian, how seemed slightly annoyed with him, more so than Uhura, but probably because he was asking stupid questions, questions he should already know the answers to, but he didn't want to reveal that he had lost his memory. It made him feel weak.

When he sensed that it was time to stop annoying the navigations officer, he turned to the young man at the other end of the console, after having glanced over his shoulder to see Spock and Uhura whispering something to each other. He felt even more jealous, but he swallowed the feeling, confused as to why. He figured it was because he had attached himself to the Vulcan as a way to understand this whole ordeal and he didn't want to be separated from this lifeline.

Yeah. That was it.

Maybe.

He had talked with the young Russian for a minute before excusing himself, daunted by the genius that was that kid. He tried to act confident, and not jealous, as he walked back over to Spock and Uhura.

"How old is that kid?" He asked, gesturing to the young Russian, attempting to turn their attention to him and away from each other.

"Seventeen, sir." Spock answered. His voice was so emotionless. Jim briefly wondered if there had been emotion in it when he was talking to Uhura. He swallowed another strange pang of jealousy.

"Hell." In spite of how he was feeling, that answer was a bit shocking. He glanced over his shoulder at the kid, even more amazed by the things the kid had talked to him about. He turned back around, and he faced his communications officer and First Officer. "Hey, am I interrupting?" He asked, not really thinking about what he had said; it was something he did when he was uncomfortable or jealous.

"No, sir." Uhura shot at him, locking her eyes with his intensely. They stared each other down, Jim slightly amused, Uhura slightly defensive.

Just then, a message from McCoy came in breaking the staring contest between them.

"Spock. Bring Jim down here. I have a few more tests I'd like to run." The doctor stated before cutting off the message.

"Damn." Jim swore, following slowly behind Spock, praying not to get another hypo jabbed into his neck.


	11. To Learn a Little About Himself

He sighed, filtering through more screens of questions. All the answers were coming to him easily, which shocked him, because the questions he was being asked had to do with things such as the equipment on the _Enterprise_, how she worked, policies, procedures, as well as tests on other languages of the planets in the Federation, astrophysics, and a plethora of other subjects he would have required an education to have such a mastery. He was intelligent, but he wasn't some sort of genius that was born with all the knowledge in the world, and God knew his stepfather didn't know any of this stuff.

He just continued answering the questions, however he was getting slightly distracted trying to listen to what McCoy and Spock were saying. He knew they were talking about him. There was a monitor in front of the two of him that probably displayed the scores he was getting. He was anxious to know if all these answers were right. He was anxious to know what these tests were for.

He redirected his full attention to the computer, getting slightly annoyed that the stream of questions didn't seem to end. He flew through the answers nevertheless and suddenly the screen went blank. He sat back in his chair, thankful that the never-ending test was over.

But the fact that his mind was no longer preoccupied gave it free range of everything else, and he found himself thinking about that irrational jealousy that was constantly twisting inside of him. He tried coming up with excuses for it, he honestly did, but none of them made sense, and that left the obvious, which he wasn't sure he was willing to accept just yet.

But at the same time, he started to wonder exactly why he would be attracted to that man in the first place. From the moment he found himself on this ship, he had been fascinated by the Vulcan and stayed by his side, half out of needing someone who could help him function in this place and half out of needing someone who remembered who he had been. There was something that ran a little bit deeper than that, something he was reluctant to put to words. There was just something in the way that Spock watched him, always having one eye on him. There was some sort of softness in those eyes when they were trained on him he noticed disappeared when they were on others.

Thinking about those eyes sent a shiver up his spine. He turned in his chair to see those very eyes on him for the briefest of seconds before they were turned to the monitor in front of them. McCoy was talking to someone, but to whom Jim couldn't tell. He saw Spock nod in response to something said to him before the two of them walked over to him.

"God, I'd rather you have stabbed me in the neck, Bones." Jim stated, recalling the nickname. It was weird, but he was remembering some things, while others remained complete mysteries. He saw a light in Bones' eyes, a smile that reflected there, even if his face stayed in its natural scowl.

"Yeah, well you're cleared for duty, starting tomorrow."

"No shit?" Jim asked, standing up, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Bones rolled his eyes, causing Jim to laugh a little. Remembering that he wasn't sure he would be able to command a starship, he turned to Spock, trying to hide the panic in his sapphire eyes "You'll be there, right?" He asked suddenly, blue eyes locking with space-black ones.

"Yes, Captain." Spock answered.

A little of the anxiety inside of him dissipated and he smiled.

* * *

Jim had never been a particular fan of chess, most likely due to the fact that he'd rather play games with more immediate results that took half the time or the brainpower. He had always had been interested in the game, but had never played, probably due to the fact he had never had anyone to play with.

Considering his inexperience, he was better at this game than either party anticipated.

"And… checkmate." He stated arrogantly, a shit-eating grin on his face. He looked up to the space black eyes with triumph in his. "I thought you said you were good at this game," he joked innocently, not intending offense. "I beat you almost half of the games."

"Chess is a game of strategy," Spock stated, eyes moving to examine the board and where he had gone wrong. Jim watched the nearly hidden veil of shock in those eyes. That small hint of emotion was something that made his winning even more triumphant. "However, you seem to have surpassed strategy with your illogical moves. I was not able to predict your movements, which is likely the reason you have managed to beat me."

"What? Just can't admit I might be good at this game?"

"Skill and luck are two completely different things." Spock replied, raising one eyebrow. Jim took it as a challenge. He just smirked and reset the board.

"Want to test that theory?"

"As you wish, Captain."

The break room was unusually quiet, most likely due to the fact that most of the crew was in the mess halls. Jim had barely spent any alone time with his First Officer since he was cleared for duty. He had always been busy with something on the bridge, or Spock was held up in the science labs. Jim enjoyed this quiet and this moment, however the noise level raised a few decibels when Scotty walked in, his shift over in engineering.

"Hey, Captain." He called, dropping into the chair next to Jim. "Long day, hasn't it been?" Jim just laughed.

"I was stuck in sickbay taking tests for four hours. Don't preach to me about a long day." His sapphire eyes shined in the harsh overhead lights.

"Aye." Scotty leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, looking at the chessboard. He sighed in defeat, and Jim contemplated what his chief engineer was thinking. "So I heard you cannae remember anything, Captain."

"Yeah." Jim's tone dropped into a more pensive one.

"Can you remember anything about the planet?" He pressed. Jim knew that Scotty was only concerned from him, but he's gone through this over and over again. It was tiring him out.

"No. I can't really remember anything from before waking up in sickbay."

"Well no use sounding like a seagull screchin' on a wire." Scotty replied, earning a confused glance from Jim. The look cracked Scotty up, and Jim followed suit. "Am pure done in, so I'll see you tomorrow, Captain." The Scotsman said, patting Jim's shoulder as he stood up to leave. "Evening, Spock." He called before heading out of the room.

"Do you understand him?"

"Sometimes I find his vernacular quite peculiar."

"Yeah, that's just a polite way of saying you don't know what he's saying." Jim accused.

Spock shrugged the comment off, something Jim found endearing, before the Vulcan turned his attention back to the game.

"Checkmate, Captain."

"What?" Jim exclaimed, looking down. "Damn." He laughed. He picked up the pieces and reset the board. "Rematch. I think you cheated when I wasn't looking."

"It would be illogical to cheat, Captain."

"Lighten up, Spock." Jim replied, smiling. He picked up a pawn and moved it. "Your move."

"Yes, my move indeed." Spock stated, briefly looking into Jim's eyes before glancing at the board. The phrase was innocent enough, but the tone confused Jim. There was some deeper inflection to the words. Jim tried to focus on what they meant, but was distracted when it became his turn.

When Spock's eyes dropped to the board, Jim studied the other man's face, trying to find some sort of proof of all the things he would get a mere glimpse of in the Vulcan's speech or eyes. Spock's face was emotionless, but somehow not as harsh as it usually was. With all his angular features, it was hard to describe that face as anything but harsh, but Jim saw a softness in it, he saw all the undertones to everything the man said and what he really meant to say sometimes. It was as if Spock's minute expressions were a language only Jim could only understand and decipher as no one else but he seemed to catch the small fluctuations and the times the man _almost_ lost complete control. Jim wondered if that meant something.

If it did, what exactly did it mean?

He was slightly afraid to know the answer.

Yet, at the same time, he felt he _needed_ to know.

* * *

After his shift on the bridge, Jim met up with his senior officers in the officer's mess. He knew that these people, of all the people on this ship, would know who he had been during the time he had forgotten, and he wanted to know _everything_ about himself, the good, the bad, the extraordinary. The conversation today started when Uhura compared his attitude with the one he had when he took the _Kobayashi Maru_ test. He laughed when she had commented on how arrogant he had been. That's when Sulu, taking this opportunity to criticize his captain in the friendliest of rivalries.

Jim obviously didn't remember taking the _Kobayashi Maru _test, although he did subsequently learn what the test was. Considering the nature of the test, he wasn't surprised to hear that it was Spock who programmed the test. Listening to Sulu, Uhura and Bones tell the story of his last attempt at the _Kobayashi Maru_, he was smiling widely, knowing himself well enough to have behaved that way, and in the resulting miraculous circumstances that landed him a trial with the Council of Academic Integrity, prosecuted by the programmer of the test himself.

"And the last part, you sure that's how it happened? I'm sure I'm just pure amazing and beat the test." Jim said, smiling widely, amused by himself. He laughed when Sulu claimed that he must have cheated on the test. No one was certain, and the only person who could validate the statement couldn't even remember taking the test.

"I'm pretty sure that's what happened." Sulu replied, sternly. "You _beat_ the Kobayashi Maru test. You _had_ to have cheated."

"I was there and I still don't believe it." Bones stated.

"I bet that's why you got involved with that girl…" Sulu thought out loud. Jim smirked. That sounded like something he would do. He tried to remember if the woman had been attractive. Considering the idea, she more than likely was.

"Her name was Gaila, Sulu." Uhura snapped.

"Sorry."

Throughout this whole conversation, Spock said nothing, just reading report after report, seated at the opposite end of the table. Even though he was interested in hearing about himself, Jim was far more preoccupied with his First Officer. All the sideways glances and that language that seemed to speak only to him had unfamiliar thoughts swirling inside of his head.

"Did he cheat?" Sulu called across the table suddenly, knocking Jim out of his thought process, however, the question flew right past his First Officer.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Did he cheat?" Sulu repeated, slightly annoyed.

"Did who cheat what?"

Jim could see the faintest traces of annoyance on Spock's face from being distracted from whatever he had been working on. It was intriguing to watch the smallest fractions of movement that seemed to mean more to him than they did to anyone else. Jim was absolutely positive that Sulu didn't pick up that subtlety.

"Did Jim cheat on the test, on the Kobayashi Maru?"

"I most certainly believe that was the case." Spock answered, looking back down to the P.A.D.D. in front of him.

Spock didn't even look in his direction and Jim felt slightly shut out.

"Aw, couldn't you have stood up for me?" Jim asked with a pout.

"Standing up would not have changed my opinion." Spock replied, not looking up from his work. That little idiosyncrasy with Spock's grasp on human phrases, which he deemed 'illogical,' made Jim smile. "I programmed that test, and there was no way for you to have accomplished what you did."

"There's no such thing as a no-win situation." Jim stated. Of all the things he believed in, this one thing was what his entire life was revolved around. He had grown up in a dead end town in Iowa, surrounded by nothing but endless fields and a family that couldn't be far enough away from each other, yet, he tried to believe that something good would happen to him that would turn everything around, and, so fittingly, it took a bar fight to get him on the right track. He had gotten his stupid ass through plenty of no-win situations, and his intuitiveness hasn't failed him yet.

Jim locked his eyes with Spock's and he could see the shock in those space black eyes. He watched those eyes intently, almost able to see what Spock was thinking. The idea of understanding someone on such a level was strange to say the least, but it was fascinating, if frightening, and highly addictive.

Eventually, Spock turned his eyes down, unable to formulate a response to his statement.

* * *

It had been another long day on the bridge, and everyone had spent most of the day trying their damnedest not to just fall right out of their chairs. A long day was a slow day, and god, this day must have been the slowest. Each minute had inched by at an inanely slow speed.

Jim had lost count of how many cups of coffee the yeoman on duty had brought him. He lost count after like five. He just wasn't invested in keeping count on how much caffeine he consumed, more preoccupied with the mind-blowing migraine that was forming right behind his left eye. It hurt like nothing else, but he was somewhat comforted with the knowledge that his shift would be over shortly and he could escape to claw out his own eye if that would make the migraine feel better.

However, he wasn't given the chance to escape to his quarters as his senior officers invited him to join them at dinner. He jumped at every chance to learn as much about who had been that his headache was driven to the back burner to be dealt with later.

As he was rushed from the bridge with Uhura, Sulu and Chekov, he called over his shoulder to Spock telling him to join them. He knew enough of his First Officer to know that he wouldn't really enjoy being in the noisy and crowded officer's mess, but nevertheless, Jim hoped he would be there. He was _very_ interested in what Spock's view on him was, although as of yet, Spock had spoken very little on the matter, which Jim found even _more _interesting.

There was something about purposeful silence that _suggested_ something, and Jim wanted to know whatever it was that Spock felt hesitant to reveal. Even if he, himself, was hesitant to understand.

When he finally found himself seated, he was surrounded by Bones, Scotty, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu, Nurse Chapel, a couple of ensigns and, sitting as far as he possibly could, Spock, looking undoubtedly uncomfortable, but still there.

Everyone around him had something to reminisce about, some part of his personal history to talk about, and each anecdote fueled another and he eventually started to get a feel of the man he had become, the man he had been, a man he feared he couldn't be now. There's a fine line between knowing something and having _felt_ it, _experienced_ it. He feared that particular and important difference made him a completely different person, and therefore drove a wedge between the man in their stories, the man he wanted to be, and the person he was now, the person he feared could never live up in the shadow of who he had been.

After a while, Uhura and Scotty and the others started retelling other events that had occurred, significant things. Uhura reflected on the death of her best friend, Gaila, who was the woman he had apparently, to Sulu, 'used' to beat the _Kobayashi Maru_ test. Scotty's usually energetic and happy tone of voice dropped to a somber tone as he told him of the destruction of the planet Vulcan, Spock's home planet, and Uhura remorsefully commented that in the planet's destruction, Spock had lost his mother Amanda. Jim was overcome with sorrow and pain, as if he internally felt everything Spock would never show, and he looked over to the man seated at the end of the table with sad blue eyes.

The relation of the _Narada_ incident was a group effort between Uhura, Scotty and Bones, with various points filled in by Chekov and Sulu like the battle on the rigging on the _Narada_ or Chekov's miracle that saved both Sulu's and Jim's life. Bones reminded Jim of how he had gotten the Captain on the _Enterprise_ after he had been forbidden to do so as a mild way of humbling Jim, and Uhura remarked on his lisp and swollen hands.

The lighter tone the conversation was heading in couldn't rip Jim's thoughts from the sadness that had overwhelmed him earlier, nor could it suppress the compassion he felt for his First Officer, nor the other raging feelings that swarmed within him.

Spock had barely said anything this entire time, and Jim _needed _to know what Spock didn't seem eager to share with him.

He made a pact with himself that he would ask if Spock didn't take the responsibility to start the conversation.

Because he just _needed _to know.

* * *

"You turning in this early?" Jim asked as the two of them walked the hallways. Jim felt like he was dependent on Spock, always following the man around, or constantly in his company. He wondered if eventually Spock would demand him to stop.

"There are a lot of things that I need to finish from this afternoon."

"Do you ever just take a break?" He questioned, exasperated. "Every time I see you, you're working on something."

Spock always seemed to put more of his attention to his work, the reports, the labs, than to anything else. Jim felt a little annoyed that his First Officer seemed to rather do paperwork than spend time with him.

"There are a lot of things that need to be done, Captain."

"But don't you ever want to just _not_ think about reports for awhile and just _have a good time_?"

"I have no qualms with working."

"You're impossible, Spock." Jim laughed, although underneath his laughter, he was torn. He wanted Spock to just this one time, take a break from all the work he always seemed to be doing, and sit down with him and tell him everything Jim knew only Spock would be able to reveal.

"I cannot be 'impossible,' Captain, that would be illogical." Jim only looked at him accusingly.

"Are you ever not analyzing or thinking, Spock? Seriously. I need to get you to live a little if it kills me."

Spock said nothing until they reached the corridor containing the rooms of the senior officers. In the awkward silence, at least, it was awkward for him, Jim just stared aimlessly down the hallway. He was taken by surprise when Spock crossed in front of him to his door, punching in the code for the door to slide open.

"Hey, wait." Jim said suddenly, grabbing Spock's arm impulsively. The Vulcan's entire body tensed, but Jim didn't let go. Spock turned to face him. "I have to ask you something." Jim let go of his First Officer's arm and turned his head to the side slightly. His usual confidence was failing him.

"Yes, Captain?" Spock inquired, his head tilting slightly to the side. That innocent gesture was undeniably appealing to him.

"I just wanted to ask you if there was anything that you wanted to tell me about the time I had forgotten."

"I do not recall anyone missing anything significant."

"Okay, subtlety not going to work here," Jim sighed, looking down at the floor momentarily, gathering his thoughts and his confidence. "Were we in a relationship before… what happened?" He asked, voice fallen almost to a whisper. He searched Spock's eyes trying to read what was in them. The Vulcan's silence caused his hands to shake. He suddenly regretted asking, wondering if he had crossed a line he should have steered clear of.

Spock stayed silent, and even though their eyes remained trained on each other, Jim couldn't read anything in the obsidian irises. They were opaque and he couldn't see anything in them.

The silence built a constricting tension inside of him.

He wished at this moment he had that little voice that would let him know when he had gone too far.

Suddenly conflict was evident in Spock's eyes, uncertainty, apprehension, worry, but something else was there. Something deeper and more passionate and longing.

_Longing._

And that feeling dragged him in and under.


	12. To Be Deferred

Jim turned his face away, unable to look into those eyes any longer. He felt as if he had been drowning in them.

It was unbearably quiet. It weighed down on him, pressured him until he could feel his knees trembling, fighting with all their integrity to prevent him from collapsing.

Jim had begun to really regret having said something, but he could have sworn that there was something about the two of them that screamed "more than friends."

With his foot firmly placed in his mouth, because if he had already crossed the line, going further over it wouldn't make much of a difference, he attempted to explain himself.

"Uhm, Spock," He began, the English language failing him. "See, I just _felt_ that there was something. You know?" He asked futilely. He didn't even understand what he was saying. He ventured a look back to those obsidian eyes, reflective, as if they were mirrors. His First Officer was frustratingly unreadable. "I just felt that something was there. You have been around me since I woke up and when you're not around it just feels weird, do you understand what I'm saying?" He sighed. "I sure as Hell don't. This is really hard to explain. I'm just trying to say that after all the time we spent together so far, it just seemed obvious to me that there must have been something. Does that make any sense?"

"Captain… I…"

There was a quake to that usually level voice. Jim picked up on it and latched onto it. It gave him some proof that he might not exactly be one hundred percent off base.

"Captain!" Someone called from down the hall. He angrily snapped his head in the direction of the distraction, knowing as captain he couldn't afford to let a screw-up, however small, by-pass him. No one could ever be sure that the one time you shirked your duties something terrible would happen, and he took the entire crew of the _Enterprise_ onto his shoulders, owning up to the responsibility left to him.

While the ensign cautiously approached him, Jim heard the automatic door to his left slide shut and the locking mechanism engaged. He pounded on the door in barely hidden desperation.

"Spock!"

"Uhm, Captain?" The ensign asked, approaching.

He sighed in frustration and turned to the young man, looking back once more at Spock's door before following the ensign down the hallway listening to his inane problem that had nothing to do with the ship.

Needless to say, was aggravated. After enduring that horrific silence, he ended up with nothing but a shaken feeling to show for it, no answers, not even some sort of temporary relief.

He'd have to let this go for now, but he couldn't help but think about everything a little more. He couldn't help but try to place that one emotion that was in Spock's eyes that had baffled him, intrigued him, frightened him, possessed him, burned him, and it was something entirely alien to him and something he loved and wanted and desired to understand and hold in his own hands.


	13. To Get His Answer

AN: Hello again everyone. I just put a particularly hard week behind me, and that is my excuse for the lack of updates in the past week.

I wanted to mention a slight change I will do to the story as soon as such a thing becomes logical. I will interweave the two points of view, meaning that I will have the chapter in Spock's point of view, followed by Jim's, and back and forth until the end. However, it would be illogical to do that right now, considering Jim's point of view hasn't caught up yet, so expect that change to come after the next few chapters.

PS: Star Trek XI came out yesterday! I preordered my copy [at least] a month in advance like the little fangirl I am. What about you?

* * *

He couldn't sit still. He was a little jumpy and on edge. A good portion of his behavior could just be blamed on lack of sleep and an insane amount of caffeine running through his veins. To everyone on the bridge he seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, and was irritable that he was still stuck here.

He sent a few sideways glances towards Spock, a deep rumbling disappointment, remnants of the night before, filling his eyes, tainting the blue of his eyes, making them darker, more melancholy.

He didn't know what to think, nor did he have any clue as to what he should say. Nothing he had ever experienced gave him any knowledge of how to proceed. He had never been in this position before. He had never needed to be on the offense; he was used to people tripping over themselves to get to him. But here he needed to say something, _do _something, for he feared that if he held his tongue and just waited, nothing would ever happen. Spock was so closed to the world, so hidden, that Jim knew that he would just withhold what he needed to say for the sake of remaining in control.

Jim tried to keep himself involved with the task at hand, but he couldn't concentrate. Glancing once more in Spock's direction, he noted that his First Officer was behaving strangely. There was the slightest fidget, the smallest of movements in his hands, and those space black eyes didn't seem as if they could find something interesting enough to focus on. From those nearly imperceptible actions, Jim knew that Spock was anxious, perhaps due to the fact that mentally, Jim has been trying to psyche himself up to confront him about the conversation that Spock had left hanging, and his First Officer knew that there wouldn't be a repeat of yesterday.

Jim took a deep breath and signed one final report he barely looked at before handing it back to the yeoman and pushing himself out of his chair over to the science station.

Resting his hands on the top of Spock's chair he leaned over the other man's shoulders until his lips were at the Vulcan's ear. Spock shivered, the movement almost unperceivable, but he caught it. There was something daunting in being able to _know_ someone on that level, in being able to _see_ things no one else could. He was either crazy or there was some deeply woven connection that even amnesia couldn't eradicate.

"You. Me. Tonight. My quarters. I'm getting an answer." Jim stated, watching the tips of his First Officer's ears flush a pale green. He smirked in triumph. He imagined he would always be slightly put off by the color, the deep olive green that lightly tinted his First Officer's skin whenever he was frustrated or embarrassed, although the flush was hardly apparent, but he found he wasn't. It wasn't a turn off like he expected it be.

Without another word, due to his fearing of just losing his train of thought and possibly saying something stupid or offensive, he returned to the command chair, falling back into it heavily.

He felt undeniably smug. He felt a little less under pressure for the moment. He knew the worst was far from over, but for now, he could put a little more of his attention towards everything on the bridge that he should have been focusing on.

He had always relished in being able to make people melt under his charms, and he would be damned if there were someone who could resist them. But there was something different about this moment. It didn't feel like it usually did when he hooked his target. Something inside him felt as if it were on fire, consuming, burning him from the inside out. It was unfamiliar territory for him. Different, but in the best of ways. He was anxious for the shift to be over and time couldn't move fast enough for him at the moment.

Doubt and what he could now define as desire worked their ways through his body gripping him and pulling in opposite directions. It was exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. This was something he had never felt before and there was something intoxicating about it.

He stole a glance over at the Vulcan, whose back was still turned to him. Jim watched his lithe fingers fly over the keypad in front of him, the rhythm of it understated yet calming and enticing. Jim's overactive imagination and sex drive through his mind into thoughts of those fingers dancing over his skin with the same proficiency as they had with those keys on the computer.

Jim had to tear his eyes away for fear of the rest of his body reacting at the sight, and that would sure as Hell be hard to explain.

He turned his attention to what was going on, distracting himself by casually flirting with Uhura and talking to the young Russian prodigy about all the things Jim could only hope to understand. Every once and a while, however, Jim couldn't help but glance over at Spock, and when their eyes met, he felt the fire inside of his flare almost to an intense pain but at the same time an intense pleasure.

He glanced at the time and swore.

* * *

He walked through the hallways briskly, avoiding people as much as was possible and cutting conversations short when he couldn't avoid them. The anticipation was unbearable. With all the thoughts festering inside of him, he wanted relief; he wanted for all the pressure of doubt to be absolved. The thought of finally getting an answer was an almost crippling force, a combination of fear, reluctance and desire and urgency, and he was propelled forward by the relief that with one simple word this could all end, but then what came afterward could be harder to live with.

Which would be harder to live with?

In the nearly two hours that separated the differences in the ends of their shifts, every thought, positive and negative, filled his head to the point where there was a migraine clawing at the outer edges of his brain, the consequence of too many thoughts trying to occupy the same space.

His frustration and the ever threatening migraine made him irritable and impatient, and the thought of having to endure this torture for another day, assuming Spock managed to outmaneuver him again, was unbearable and had him at a near run to the corridor of the senior officers' room, unwilling to let his First Officer slip through his fingers once more.

Obstinacy was part of his genetic make-up, his way of survival, coupled with ingenuity, and he'd be damned if he let what he wanted escape.

He never realized the distance he had to travel from the bridge until now, where he felt every step and how agonizingly far from where he wanted to be he was. The distance gave his migraine free reign as every thought in his head started to revolve around a singular idea, the eye of the storm, yet it was all but calm. The emotion buried at the very centre of him was dangerous and frightening. It was unfamiliar territory, an untouched frontier that had reined him in many a time, the fear preventing him from crossing the line, the motivation to move forward never present until now.

Every feeling and action between him and his First Officer was in that centre, beckoning him forward to learn what it meant, what he was supposed to know. It made him positive that something had occurred between himself and his First Officer, the only thing he couldn't understand was the other man's hesitance.

Of course it was illogical and unusual and wrong but deep down it was right to him somehow, some part of him _knew_ it was right, he just needed to see it, to know it, hold it in his hands and feel it. He just needed the proof that he wouldn't be cut down by this.

The proof was with Spock, whether he would come out finally put back together or realize he was broken beyond repair.

There would be pain either way, but love without pain isn't something he believed existed. Something was always given up or destroyed.

He needed to know what that felt like.

He started to run.

* * *

He skidded around the corner and couldn't get to his quarters fast enough. He had a feeling that Spock would still be in his room, one of the few safe havens he must have on this ship when everywhere else he was faced with his obstinate captain.

He knew this could be hard for Spock to say; difficult to admit to with fear of how he would respond and difficult to deny with the way he had been responding. And it would be hard for him to hear.

He nearly collapsed over himself, sliding across the floor, stopping before Spock's door. He was lucky to be in such good shape, otherwise he'd probably look ridiculously unattractive at the moment.

He couldn't yet work up the nerve to knock on the door, still a little anxious about everything he has been feeling finally meeting a force that could make it all make sense. He was hesitant to come to face with the pain he knew what associated with where this was all going. He was no stranger to pain, he had broken quite a few of his bones, and there are parts of his body that just look like permanent bruises. He could handle any physical blow, but it was when the pain became intangible, when there was no outward mark, when it was internal, it wrenched him.

He had never had to deal with pain on that level. He avoided the things that would take him there, playing it safe and passionless, empty, fulfilling the basest desire, nothing more.

But this would take him to that place he'd never been before, to that place that could ravage him, now given the chance.

As his heart beat faster, he began to pray that Spock stood on the other side of the door, knowing Jim would be there, and refuse to surface, avoid him, but that hurt even more. He wouldn't be able to hold up under this for very much longer. It was too heavy.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified when the door in front of him slid open. There was the faintest trace of shock evident on Spock's face, just enough for Jim to see.

He was nervous, but he tried to hide it, leaning in closer, removing his overly expressive eyes from Spock's view. He dropped his voice to a whisper to mask it's wavering.

"I was beginning to think you were trying to evade me. Oh, no. You are not getting away this time. Not until I get what I want. And I always get what I want." He wasn't sure where these words were coming from, probably just some natural reaction of his that masked what he really felt and was afraid to convey.

When Spock inched back, ever so slightly, he reached out and latched onto his First Officer's wrist, and the gasp that whispered out of the Vulcan's throat, soft enough to be seductive, loud enough to spark something inside him.

Without thinking, he pulled Spock out of the threshold and into his quarters, not giving the man time to think or react, knowing that if this would come down to brute strength, Spock could dominate him without trying. He locked the door, quickly, preventing anyone from coming in, and unless the damn ship was going down, no one better try.

"I told you what I felt, as confusing as it was. Now answer me. Were we together?"

He was surprised at the tone that leaked into his words. He wondered if Spock had picked up on it. He sounded so forlorn to himself, so _yearning_.

He wondered if that meant something.

He managed to hold Spock's eyes tentatively, prepared to look away if he feared this was going to deep. He still held on to that thin wrist, almost able to feel the war he saw in Spock's eyes. There was so much going on, so much emotion, that he was unable to read any of them, the confusion he felt at not knowing where to start deciphering those eyes must be infinitely worse inside Spock's head.

He loosened his grip, wanting to actually _feel_ the skin against his hand, not crush it. It was warmer than his own, and that warmth seemed to creep up his arms into his shoulder, moving in waves through his body slowly and agonizingly, coaxing him, but to do what, he wasn't sure.

"Spock?" He urged, his voice loosing any commanding tone that it had earlier. He was finding it harder and harder to not fall into himself.

"Yes."

The words came out strained as if it hurt him to say that one word. The prevailing emotions in his eyes were this sad, longing desire and something deeper and far more frightening to someone like Jim. He had barely registered the word. Having gotten the answer he sought after, he didn't know what to do with it. He had never felt so out of place, so unsure of himself, of what should happen next. The first wave of emotion to bubble up inside of him was regret. He couldn't begin to imagine what their relationship had been like, and for Spock to be so hurt to have to admit it meant that it must hurt him that Jim couldn't remember any of it.

"I'm sorry that I can't remember." His voice dropped to a full whisper, something even he himself could barely hear, but he knew the Vulcan, with his sensitive hearing, picked up on it. He loosened his grip even more, a feather light touch. He wasn't willing to let go, but he was beginning to shake, and he knew keeping such a solid grip on the Vulcan's arm would betray his weakness far quicker. "I'll make it you to you." He stated, holding his gaze with the space black eyes that seemed to pull him in. He felt short of breath.

Wanting to look strong, and to at least give some sign that Spock's confession didn't land on deaf ears, he smiled. He half expected to have to fake the smile, but something inside of him honestly cherished that one word and the smile was natural, soft, _believable_, and he was thankful for that.

It was hard to say that he wasn't taken by surprise when his usually calculating and stoic Vulcan leaned down and kissed him. But it was also hard to say that he didn't like it.

In all honesty, it woke something up in him, something he never knew was there.

The kiss was soft, light, but that wasn't enough for him. He craved more.

He brought his free hand up to Spock's face, the tips of his fingers brushing along that naturally heated skin, bringing the Vulcan's face closer to his, pressing their lips more forcefully together. He ran his tongue along Spock's lower lip lightly, teasingly, knowing he probably wouldn't get an audible response even though he wanted one. However, Spock's response was exactly what he had been seeking. Given the chance, he deepened the kiss, his tongue in Spock's mouth trying to reclaim something he was just told had been his. He teased the Vulcan's tongue with his own, running the tip of his tongue along the ridged of the palette.

Spock had been so near passive that when those thin lips wrapped around his tongue and sucked, ever so slightly, he didn't have time to even try to stifle the moan that rumbled in his throat, unable to stop himself from leaning into his First Officer, his fingers lightly tangled in the straight black hair.

He was unsure of how much he had wanted this until now. He was unsure of how deep the feelings he had been flooded with ran until now. In this moment, everything seemed to be making sense, and he was finding a haven in the first person he attached himself to upon waking up with nothing.

Right now, he had someone to ground him.

Someone who was _his_.

Someone who wanted him far more deeply than anyone else ever had. For all the fear he had, he was overwhelmed with relief that his façade might eventually be able to come down.

He needed time, but in this moment, nothing else really mattered.


	14. To Embrace Vulnerability

Those powerful hands cradled his face almost gently, but the passion in the kiss was almost brutal, needy, searching and possessive, as if Spock couldn't claim enough of him in it. It was encompassing and heavy, and it almost hurt, but he found that he too couldn't get enough of the Vulcan, his hands unable to touch the other man enough.

His fingers wrapped around those thin hips and pulled his First Officer closer. Their close proximity switched on that instinct in him that worried about physical placation whilst drowning out emotion. He tried to drown out that instinct and that suddenly made him feel awkward in his own skin, nervous and anxious all at the same time.

He had always skirted through these things on instinct, yet, right now, he didn't want to rely on them anymore, not right now. But his decision was made harder at the obvious tentativeness in Spock's touch. And Spock was controlled in his responses, making it difficult for Jim to play off of. He felt dizzy, probably because his heart was beating impossibly fast, his body tense and pressed against tightly against the half-Vulcan's.

The kiss was broken and he tried to catch his breath. He could feel his chest heaving, and the hollow it caused was a strange feeling, as if his chest was caving in every time he exhaled.

Even with his eyes closed, he could _feel _those space-black irises studying him, _analyzing_ him. He wondered briefly if he was just an experiment, the means by which to test a hypothesis. Not like he hadn't been down this road before. He threw the thoughts away, knowing he was being irrational, his subconscious trying to work it's way out of the corner it had been pushed into by unfamiliar feelings and crossed boundary lines. Something about his nature just _feared_ the idea of "love" or "commitment" or "till death do us part." The finality of those statements, the responsibility and the emotion in those statements were overwhelming. He had _seen_ what "till death" meant when it came too early; a bitter, sad life with underlying blame and heartbreak. He never wanted to go there.

But here he was.

He suddenly felt those thin, warm lips brushing his, the deep voice a near exasperated whisper.

"Open your eyes."

The command was innocent enough, but it was so hard to follow. Opening his eyes would pull him full force into this reality, into further grounding himself in this. But at the same time, the warm hands holding both sides of his face, the absolute closeness of their bodies turned him on beyond belief, the intense heat of his First Officer something he had never felt before.

He managed to open his eyes, unsure of what they reflected and what they betrayed. When he heard the small gasp that was barely loud enough for him to hear, he wasn't sure what to expect, but that heated tongue dragged slowly along his bottom lip slowly pulled thought away from him momentarily. He lapsed into instinct, moaning softly, wordlessly begging for more.

Spock moved away, his movements fractional, but just enough to be noticed, to let the cold air snake in and cool the sweat on his skin, the preternatural heat of his Vulcan lessened by their loss of contact. He fought back a shiver and leaned closer and was pushed back. Again he leaned against those strong hands, and when those lips pressed to his jaw, he tilted his head, giving more access to his neck, one of the most sensitive parts of his body, but Spock's lips and tongue traced his jaw line.

He was aware he was acting on instinct now and it killed him a little, that all the moans, all his reactions, were just presets, a way for him to escape the ever-baring reality of what this all could mean. He felt ashamed of himself for being so dependent on his scapegoats.

He ran his hands under Spock's shirt, a strange noise twisting out of his throat, a mix of pain and pleasure, at being bit, something so erotic and new.

Jim broke himself of his instincts, trying to slow down where his body anticipated this would go. He thought that perhaps if he immersed himself in this, it would be easier to overcome his fears of what happened in the cases where you wake up with the person you went to bed with.

He tenderly pressed his lips to that blazing neck. It was like kissing someone with a fever. It was something peculiarly intoxicating; it seemed to warm up the frigid parts of him that he had frozen to keep himself intact and protected. The melting feeling inside of him was frightening. He wasn't sure he would be able to trust Spock with every broken piece of his soul. He wasn't sure the weak parts of him would be safe here, in this fire. He wanted to be safe here, but he was scared.

He kissed slowly down Spock's neck, his fingertips lightly grazing the hot skin. His Vulcan barely responded, something Jim was unused to. He was never with someone so in control of his emotions, of his reactions. It was disquieting. He wasn't sure how he could tell if he was doing anything right, or how to tell if he had gone wrong. In this moment, he wanted it to be good for the both of them. This wasn't just about him now.

Spock suddenly grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from that heated chest, recapturing his lips almost commandingly. When the kiss was broken, it was Spock who broke it. Jim wasn't in charge here, and that was beautiful to him. Perhaps, in this moment at least, he could trust himself to the other man, truly be able to work off his instincts.

Spock's lips trailed down his neck and he couldn't help but gasp when he found the most sensitive part of his neck. He fell forward ever so slightly, his hands resting against Spock's chest, his wrists still held captive in those powerful hands.

When he was released, he stepped back, taking in the sight of his Vulcan, calm and collected, unlike how he felt and probably looked, torn in all different directions, confused and frightened, aroused and anxious. But he saw the man tense, and he thought maybe he had done something wrong. He suddenly thought that maybe Spock had thought _he_ had done something wrong. Jim smiled slightly, the smile reaching his eyes more than his face, and was glad to see Spock relax just a little, but he still seemed on edge.

A smile crept its way onto Jim's face, at the look on Spock's. The look of frustration, both sexual and otherwise, desire and apprehension that were present vividly in the Vulcan's eyes, if only slightly etched on his face, was somehow undeniably sexy to him. He could sense his First Officer's hesitance, and to be honest, he was insecure as well, but for a different reason. He had never been the kind of person to be involved in a relationship, unless you defined 'relationship' as 'one night stand.'

It was entirely unromantic, given the circumstances, but Jim couldn't help but wonder what had truly happened between the two of them when he still had his memory of the past few years. He wondered how, even considering everything that had happened from what he remembered and what he had forgotten, a version of himself had fit effortlessly into the idea of monogamy and love.

He had always sworn off love, a product of a childhood gone sadly awry with a distant mother, a stepfather with medieval ideas of childrearing and an older brother who had abandoned his family as soon as he had been able. He had been nothing other than a backwards country boy, drunk half the time, picking fights the other half. He was jaded and edgy and angry and lost and deep down broken and confused. Love was something that died with his father and he never believed the words when they were said to him.

So, how, here, can he feel completely at ease hearing he had given himself over to someone else, captive in their touch, hanging on their words, feeling lost when they aren't around, angry when they were being avoidant, _anxious_ thinking they didn't love him. How had this happened?

What was different here?

The Vulcan's hands were like an inferno engulfing him, holding possessively, tenderly.

There was something in his touch that was different from every other time he had felt hands on skin. Under the desperation of desire, there was something deeper, far more meaningful than three words that could be misleading or misused, something carnal, passionate and undeniably truthful to a fault. While Jim wasn't sure if this was love, he knew it was something he needed, _craved_.

It was something that could fix him, if only he gave it the chance.

Spock had become distant, lost in thought, and tenser than ever. Jim stepped closer, placing his hands on Spock's back, amazed at how tightly wound those muscles felt under the palm of his hand. He was surprised the ligaments didn't tear under the pressure.

He leaned up, in close, to those elegantly pointed ears, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Hey, relax, will you?"

His voice was husky, and deeper than usual, and full of conflict and desire and apprehension. He was certainly not relaxed himself, no matter how he looked on the outside. He always built himself up to look so laid back when in reality he wore his heart on his sleeve and was always so on edge.

Spock wasn't moving, but the tenseness in those muscles was frightening. Jim was afraid that whenever what held him so tightly gave way, Spock would just end up collapsing, so he pulled him to the bed, shocked at how easily he could do so. The half-Vulcan's superior strength would have prevented Jim from moving him anywhere if he did not want to be moved.

He pressed Spock's back against the mattress, leaning over his Vulcan, looking into those eyes that were just so expressive to him. They were filled with uncertainty and he just kissed his Vulcan's forehead gently.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to do that, there was just something inside him that wanted to comfort him. This was entirely new to him, but for Spock this must hurt, having to start all over again. His heart hurt _for_ Spock, hurt for the pain his amnesia must have caused.

When he heard that small choked sob escape Spock's throat, the closest thing to an emotion Jim had ever heard from him, it nearly broke his fractured little bruised heart. It was tormented and sad, and it took his breath away.

He kissed his Vulcan tenderly before kissing his temple softly, the corner of his eye, the tip of his ear, a slow, soft pace, just to calm the pounding of the heart he could feel beneath him. He shifted the two of them in the bed so they were lying on their sides, his Vulcan curled into him, more human in this moment than he had ever seen him.

Spock held him as he lay there, and Jim held tightly, as if he was protecting him.

* * *

AN: I seem to really be failing at updating!

I finally got to break, and all I did was watch Star Trek. The Original Series, the original movies, and of course the new movie, and most definitely the gag reel. I don't know how many times I watched that, but it is still funny! Especially when Zachary Quinto and Chris Pine performed the scene in Irish and German accents (respectively).

Quick question!: What was your favorite TOS episode or movie?


	15. To Make His Choice

His alarm clock buzzed agonizingly loud inside of his head. Never before this morning had he realized how loud it was. He had a brutal headache, something he only got if he had been drunk or crying. In his head, his dream from last night was throbbing, painfully expanding inside the confines of his skull. He felt slightly hung-over and there was a lot of noise out in the hallway. He suddenly snapped awake, sitting bolt upright, glancing at the clock and seeing that he was fifteen minutes late for his shift and there were a plethora of messages all saying the same thing, "where the Hell are you," of course, not in so many words.

He didn't have time to think about his dream; he needed to get his ass out of bed and to the bridge. Even in his frantic attempt to get ready, Jim noticed that he was alone; no trace of what had happened the night before, and no explanation of the emptiness. He felt a little hollow, like he lost some part of himself.

Half dressed, Jim snatched a clean shirt from the closet and ran down the corridor to the turbolift whilst trying to put his shirt on. A few of the ensigns stared at him with bewildered expressions, but he noticed a greater few shrugging off the sight as if they have seen it all before or had no doubts it would something he would do. He chuckled a bit as the lift sped towards the bridge.

He managed to right his clothing just in time for the lift doors to open.

"`Morning." He stated quickly, trying to pretend he hadn't been late before sitting down.

"Where were you? I was about to send McCoy after you." Uhura chided, turning in her seat to give Jim a disapproving glance.

"Sorry. I slept through my alarm this morning."

"Means you had too much to think about when you went to bed yesterday. You shouldn't worry about things at night. You're supposed you rest at night. You worry when you sit in that chair." She stated, again facing her console. Jim sighed, knowing she was right. He had too much to think about now, but he couldn't let that show. He had a responsibility to her, to everyone on the _Enterprise_, as their captain. He couldn't let personal matters affect him when he sat in this chair he worked pretty damn hard to get.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Spock seated at the science station, seemingly entranced by whatever data was scrolling on the screen. He watched hi First Officer silently for a few minutes, every once and a while glancing everywhere else, making sure the world wasn't coming down. Despite his promise to himself to focus, he just couldn't. He needed to say _something_. Maybe if he got what he was thinking put into words, he could concentrate a little better.

Certain no Earth-shattering disaster would occur in the next five minutes, he got out of the command chair and meandered over to the science station, pretending to be as calm as possible and not as anxious as he felt.

He rested his hand on the back of Spock's chair, his knuckles lightly pressed against the Vulcan's back, and leaned over his First Officer's shoulder, pretending to be looking over the data on the screen.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, loud enough only for Spock to be able to hear him.

He glanced quickly at his First Officer, but seeing those eyes still glued to the screen, he turned his attention back to it as well. He couldn't help but think that he was being dodged, like before. Had Spock decided he was not worth starting over for? He continued to stare forward, unable to look towards Spock. If this ended so suddenly, he might just be destroyed for good.

"I am fine." Spock responded stiffly.

"So is 'fine' the reason I found you gone this morning?" His asked, his voice containing the faintest trace of scorn and disappointment.

"I'm sorry." The words sounded strange coming from the Vulcan, as if they were never meant to be said. They sounded labored, his tone perplexed.

"Sorry doesn't explain anything." Jim stated, briefly analyzing Spock with a fleeting glance. It had to be quick, he didn't want to catch those eyes and see something he didn't want to.

"About yesterday. I shouldn't have said anything. I… I just… shouldn't have said anything."

"So, what? You want to pretend that nothing happened?" Jim asked, a slight growl in his voice. "Are you afraid of how I feel? Or was it worth nothing to you and easier to give up?" He was letting himself get angrier than he intended to. He didn't want to shut Spock out, but he was losing his mind.

"No, because I…"

"I'm not sure how I feel about all of this, but I don't want to just give up." He interrupted, leaning in unbearably close and quickly placed a chaste kiss on the tip of his First Officer's ear before backing away. "I'm willing to test the waters. So long as I don't get drowned."

Spock's fingers twitched and paused in their typing and he smiled to himself. There was something fascinating about getting a physical response out of the half-Vulcan for they were rare.

"I'll see you tonight on the Observation Deck." There was no question in the statement.

He retuned to his chair without looking back at Spock, it was time for him to concentrate, and he still feared what he might see. He smiled a little, very little of it reaching his eyes, but as long as he looked like he was fine, no one on this bridge could really see through to what he really looked like. Leaning forward in his chair to antagonize Sulu and Chekov, he took his mind off of everything temporarily, but he couldn't help the anxiety that scratched at the back of his brain.

* * *

Spock was already there when Jim arrived, and the captain smiled, somehow knowing this would happen. He walked up as quietly as he could, wanting to observe his First Officer before his presence was known. He knew Spock could hear him, but for once in his life he kept his mouth shut, and just watched.

Spock stood, back straight as an arrow, hands clasped tightly in the small of his back. It was all so formal and tense, and he wanted to massage those shoulders, release the tension in those hands. The muscles were coiled so tightly Jim could see the Vulcan shaking slightly. There was always so much tension in the half-Vulcan when they were together. He started to think he might be having adverse effects on the man's mental and physical health.

When he was close enough to touch, he was standing behind Spock, slowly working the other man's hands out of the grip they had on each other, taking each one into his own hand. That simple touch had the Vulcan trembling. He released one of Spock's hands, but encased the other one with both of his, working his thumbs into the flesh of Spock's palm, slowly dragging his fingertips down the Vulcan's fingers. There was so much tension in even the muscles of Spock's hands that Jim nearly collapsed. He was afraid that his insistence to find someone to put him back together was putting too much pressure on Spock, and he feared that eventually, he might just drag the half-Vulcan into his self-made purgatory.

He continued to work the muscles of Spock's hand, gently brushing his fingertips, smiling inwardly at the small gasp his actions caused. There was something erotic about this touch, and although it didn't have the same sensitivity for himself, Jim could feel electricity crackling up his fingertips emanating off of the other man. Jim couldn't place where this knowledge came from. It was like a faint memory pushing at the corners of his mind, something he had learned off hand, through vague warnings and past experience.

He gently released his First Officer's hand, moving to stand by his side, averting his eyes to glance out the glass pane that unfolded the cold blackness of space out in front of them, stretching impossibly forward forever. In the corner of his eye he could see Spock glancing at him, his eyes as black as space, but warmer, filled with shock, desperation, worry and that same deep, undefined emotion Jim desired. He wanted that encompassing feeling to eradicate everything else, tear down every awkward moment between them and fill him up impossibly until his seams stretch because he wants every ounce of it so bad it might just kill him.

Jim kept his eyes facing forward, humbled by the vastness of the stars reaching farther than he would ever reach. He moved his hand and, slowly, tentatively, twined his fingers with Spock's.

For now, this was what he needed.

No rush of lust, no words. Just their silent connection, standing there, alone on the Observation Deck with nothing but themselves to think about.

He wanted time to try to figure this all out, but he didn't want to be alone.

He tightened his grip on the hand in his, and was thankful when he felt Spock's fingers press lovingly, softly into the back of his hand, warm and comforting.

It helped him to think.

He remembered his dream; the flashing images of the U.S.S. Kelvin, his mother's anguished cries knowing that her husband was dead. She had told him that story so many times, held it over his head. She poured all her misplaced aggression on him, and he endured it, not knowing it was slowly ruining him.

He was scared. He had never been scared of anything before, but standing this close to something so overwhelming, he felt daunted. He stood on the threshold of everything he had ever thought about love, and what love could actually be. He was scared to finally accept it, unwilling to let the same thing that happened to his mother happen to him.

He never wanted to be like her.

But here he was.

He had to make the decision.

He didn't want to step over the threshold and be besieged, beaten down, and left bleeding with nothing to hold onto. But at the same time, he didn't want to lock that open door, because he might never be able to open it again.

Jim felt Spock's hand slowly slide out of his, as if the Vulcan could sense the chaos inside of him. He had to make his choice now.

He had to either let go and close the door or hold on and face uncertainty.

He trembled as he held tighter to Spock's hand. He stole a glance at the other man, shocked to see that beautiful passion reflected deeper in those dark eyes.

Those enrapturing black eyes, faintly brown on the outer edges, beautiful and emotional and screaming everything only Jim could read and Jim pulled him into an embrace, hands still weaved together and pressed a light kiss to his temple.

It was frightening and maddening and powerful and he was slowly losing himself in this man. He needed someone who could hold him up, prove to him that all his lingering complexes were irrational, that he _was_ deserving and intelligent and worth everything his father had given up for him.

He kept their fingers entwined, and just held onto Spock, the uneasy territory he was standing on wavering and rocky, but in this moment it was okay, because he was not alone.

Where a million words could have been wasted, a simple look told him that everything would work out.

He had faith.

He held on.

* * *

AN: I know this chapter is eerily familiar to chapter 8. I will fix this. I intended to fix a lot of things, but at the moment, I have two more chapters to do before I go through and do just that.

The chapter I know a few of you have been waiting for, the chapter that will make this rated M, should be arriving within the week; it is chapter 2 of the two I said I will be writing, so hold your horses.

Thanks for answering my question all of you who have, and if you haven't, back track to chapter fourteen and do so gosh-darnit.

I must say, I loved "This Side of Paradise," I mean, McCoy's accent was brilliantly adorable, but "A Piece of the Action" was amazing just for the use of the vernacular. I don't think I could pick a favorite episode! "For The World Is Hollow And I Have Touched The Sky" might just be my favorite.


	16. To Relinquish Everything

He was scared. He'd admit it, but only to himself.

He wasn't sure if Spock knew or not, but he had this strange feeling that the half-Vulcan could just know how he felt by just being near him. Perhaps, over time, Spock had begun to master predicting his mood based on his body or words or expression. God knew the half-Vulcan could never _truly_ predict him, he couldn't tell you what he would do until he's doing it. He's always live on edge that way, and it saved him from a lot of things in the past.

But his irrational and last minute decisions put strain on Spock; he could tell in the look the half-Vulcan would give him when he decided, against everyone's better judgment to do something. Most of the time he was right, hell nearly every time he was, but he never came out of it in one piece, and his reckless behavior seemed to injure Spock as well as himself.

But every second he spent with Spock, a little more of him opened up, a little more of him began to realize how everything he did affected the two of them. He was scared, but at the same time, he was beginning to realize that this might just be everything he had been waiting for, the one thing he needed to help the emotionally scarred and abused child still living in the shadow of his father's death.

It had been months since the accident and he had still to retain any memory of the accident itself or anything that came before it. Bones was always asking him questions, prodding him, trying to get him to remember, always in the best of intentions, but nevertheless excruciatingly annoying. Spock seemed to be on edge when he visited the doctor, as if he was anxious to learn he was getting his memories back. He tried to ask about it, but Spock would always dismiss him.

Now that he thought about it, it had been months since this relationship had started, it rocky, unsteady beginning melting into something encompassing and inescapable. It was consuming and he feared what would happen if it were all to suddenly end. He gave more and more of himself up, and was given so much in return that he was afraid he'd end up as more of a broken mess with far too many pieces that can't fit together, a jig-saw puzzle of all one color with no clue of where to start assembling the pieces.

It was daunting, knowing that he knew more about Spock than anyone else will ever. He's felt, and very nearly held, everything that had ever hurt Spock, everything that ever touched him, everything inside him that bled and cried and sought a haven, he had taken into his soul and cherished and protected.

He had become less selfish from this, knowing that his half-Vulcan's own inner child took refuge with him, depended on him. He could not live for just himself anymore when it meant exposing Spock's weakness and vulnerability, something he was trusted with above all others. He had a responsibility to Spock.

Even through all this he had not been able to give up everything. Everything inside him still waged a seemingly endless war. He wasn't able to trust himself to Spock completely. There were broken things inside him that cut holes into him, stabbed him, and threatened to tear him open, and where Spock had been strong enough to share himself with him, he was unable to do the same, and he knew eventually the strain would be too much and he would run in the vain attempt to save himself by not letting the pieces be moved in the tumultuous ravaging that happened when he felt that warm embrace and all the understated passion and love that could really kill him. Or so he thought.

He wanted to run. His deepest instincts begged him. But he couldn't. He couldn't stand to return to his old lifestyle, barhopping and fighting in the futile attempt to eradicate love and passion in exchange for no heartbreak but a stagnated future.

Here, lying in Spock's arms, he wanted to give up everything. He wanted to become whole again, to make sense and feel and love and he wanted his confidence. He knew how much faith Spock put him, the faint tenderness and protectiveness, but still he couldn't shake those old memories bred into him as a child undeserving of what he had been given because he was no where near worth what had been given up.

He had seen what love had done to his mother and was reluctant to give himself to someone when so much uncertainty could potentially ruin everything he had gained. He couldn't stand to be so close and miss the mark my centimeters. That would be the end of him.

He felt Spock's arms tighten around his chest, clinging tightly. He could feel electricity in the touch and turmoil and nervousness in the embrace. In the early hours of the morning, it wasn't unusual for Spock to hold him so, as if the half-Vulcan was afraid of what the next day could bring, what it could destroy. Everything they were was so fragile, so breakable, paper-thin glass that was impressively strong, but to deny it's vulnerabilities would be its downfall.

Their dependence on each other was almost absolute and their own personal weaknesses threatened to tear them open and reveal what they truly were. They both had their secret Achilles' heels that hinged on every little thing, wavering and unsteady.

He was unsure what would happen when his final decision was made, but it would be too late to turn back and they would have no choice but to lie in the bed they made for themselves.

He moved, ever so slightly, feeling Spock tense against his back. Slowly, tentatively, he traced feather-light patterns on the pale skin of Spock's forearm, tracing along the veins on the back of his hand, running along the contours of his long fingers, brushing, ever gracefully, his fingertips. The half-Vulcan's hands were trembling ever so slightly. This small, meek form of control revealed to him how much power he could have over someone who trusted themselves to him. He was unsure to do the same, but now was the time to make his decision.

His lips barely touched those fingertips, grazing the sensitive tips almost imperceptibly. When the tip of his tongue grazed the pads of Spock's fingers, he heard the Vulcan gasp, only for it to melt into a moan as he took those two fingers into his mouth, wrapping his lips around them, tongue rolling along the underside, lightly sucking the digits. He bit them lightly before letting them slide out of his mouth.

When Spock rolled him onto his back, he wasn't reluctant. When he leaned in for a kiss, he was grateful. But Spock avoided his eyes, and he knew that something was amiss. This had happened before. It hurt him every time Spock became this way. He knew what the man was thinking, he could predict what he would say, and it hurt him.

"What's wrong?"

He saw Spock's breath hitch. He wondered what Spock was thinking when he remained silent. More than a few times, he thought the half-Vulcan had lost interest in him, as if the risks suddenly outweighed the benefits and he had become a liability.

He had begun to feel at home here, cradled inside of Spock's composed little world, shielded, even for the briefest of moments, from everything that had ever broken his defenses. He felt _right_ here sometimes. He felt that he belonged here.

He had given up a lot of himself, he knew that now, and he was finally ready to give up everything. He wanted his burden to be lifted from his shoulders, the unbearable weight of all his pain to be forced open and eradicated. He wanted to be in love, to feel like it could all make sense.

He rested his hands on the small of Spock's back, the heated skin almost blazing against his palms.

"This isn't right." Spock said suddenly, sitting back on his calves. He covered his face with his hands, hiding himself.

He sat up impulsively, pulling at the half-Vulcan's arms to no avail.

"What isn't right?" He prodded, trying to get an answer. When Spock became distant like this, it was painful to watch, painful because he could see how much it hurt Spock to say these things when a light in his eyes pleaded him to say something different. He could see when Spock was conflicted, he could read those eyes like they spoke a language just for him.

"This. All of this. It's illogical. We shouldn't be _here_."

He pressed his lips tenderly to the skin on the half-Vulcan's collarbone.

"I shouldn't have let this happen."

He became more desperate having heard those words, pulling at Spock's arms more fiercely, trying to see his face. He wanted to see those eyes and see if those words were true.

"Why do you keep saying that?" He asked, leaning in closely, their lips barely touching. He could have cried when Spock closed the distance between the two of them.

In that kiss, everything that was Jim poured out of him. It wrenched him, and he was scared, but damn it, he _loved_ him and that was enough for him.

This was a gamble, but life wasn't without its risks.

For once, he looked before he jumped, and in spite of knowing he threw himself far into the unknown that took him too far from certainty that he wouldn't be able to turn back, he jumped anyway.

He wanted, no, _needed_ this.

He let himself have it.


	17. To Know That Everything Is Lost

He felt as if he were drowning. It was such a weird feeling. He couldn't breathe, struggling just to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep those tears from forming. He couldn't say what had happened; something just _hit _him, and it _hurt_.

He was lying alone, barely off Alpha shift and here he was, almost to tears. It was sort of frightening to be gasping for breath, and it was the only thing keeping him awake. He was feeling light-headed and strange, awkward in his own skin, where every movement felt as if someone was holding onto him, playing him around like a marionette. He just didn't feel real at the moment.

He was hollow, in all reality. He had lost everything that had made him James T. Kirk, captain of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. He was a liar and an imitation, and a bad one at that.

He hadn't thought about what he had really lost until now. For months, he lived, thrived, off of what everyone remembered about him. And with his raging turmoil of his own personal Hell, he hadn't had enough of himself to realize that no matter what, he'd always be a little broken, a little hollow, and Spock or the _Enterprise _or any harrowing near-death experience could ever fit in there, because what belonged there was everything he was and everything he had lost in an accident he couldn't even remember.

God, he hated knowing he had nothing. He felt so unreal. It was frightening not to know who you are, who you were, who you should have been. He figured his real self wasn't such a backwards, self-destructive idiot who had to fight for eight months to realize he was safe enough to trust himself to someone he loved as much as he did.

It was all so stupid and pointless and idiotic and so many other things that he hated himself for it. He wasn't the captain that everyone had put their faith in. He wasn't the best friend Bones had. He wasn't the lover that Spock had given himself to. There were so many things that he wasn't, but only one thing that he was.

He was fake.

And it was enough to finally break him down into tears.

He had always walked around so high and mighty, he's gotten into more fights than you could count, broken his bones so many times it barely hurt anymore, drove a car off a goddamned cliff and _this_ hurt him more than anything else in his entire life. More than the abuse, the swears, insults and steady, unyielding self-imposed blame and guilt that wasn't even his to bear.

He had nothing. None of this belonged to him. It wasn't his to claim, to use, to depend on, to cherish. Everything belonged to James, and that wasn't him. The name didn't even belong to him.

He wanted to remember everything. He wished that it would all come back to him, flood him, Hell, it could drown him, but as long as he remembered who he had been before he died, he would be able to let go.

He wanted nothing more but to get out of here. He knew that soon their mission would be over, soon the _Enterprise_ would make her way back to Earth for repairs, to prepare her for whatever was coming next.

He seriously considered resigning from Starfleet, possibly to wonder home and get himself lost in the back streets and just fade away into anonymity. That would be proper for him.

He just needed his time to say goodbye, to give back everything that he had taken, and make one last feeble attempt to remember himself. He owed at least that much to everyone who had faith in him.

When they docked in four months, he would disappear, hoping to leave with everyone who he had been, not who he was.

He was still lying there, but the tears ha stopped, he just looked angry now. He was angry with himself. He was so enraptured that he didn't hear when the door opened or the footsteps on the floor. When he finally did notice he saw the half-Vulcan sitting on the corner of the bed. There was an air of gravity about him; it looked as if he was weighted down by something. He owed Spock enough to comfort him now, didn't he?

He sat up and kissed the tip of Spock's elegantly curved ear tenderly. His lips found his temple, his cheek, his jaw-line, before pressing against those thin lips.

He couldn't help but feel half empty, knowing he wasn't good enough, but he still put everything he had into this. In this moment, this belonged to him. The terrible weight of having no real claim to anything didn't matter here, whatever Spock had sitting on the tip of his tongue, which would sear him like acid on raw skin, had no meaning. Not in this one moment, not _right now_, and for him, that would have to be enough.

He pulled Spock's blue tunic over his head, throwing it onto the floor, knowing he'd probably get a lecture about it if everything didn't fall apart like he felt it would after this. Everything was so desperate for the two of them as of late. Spock seemed more troubled than usual about this "not being right," and he started to question himself, wondering if he had dragged this on for too long and the half-Vulcan was finally realizing how broken and degenerate and worthless and hollow like he knew he was.

He felt those heated hands on his skin, undressing him quickly. It was just so _desperate_, so needy, consuming that he felt as if he would just burn out from the inside. He just wanted everything, to have as much as he could possibly retain before he would have to give it all up forever.

Those long, thin fingers grabbed him, tore at him, tried to touch everything, and he could swear he was crying into the kiss. He just needed this _that_ much.

Just for a moment longer he wanted to just pretend to be the man that everyone had lost, someone that mattered, who was loved and whole. He just needed this.

He was on his back, and this was way too brutal, but he couldn't help but love it because it was for him, it was for the James he wanted to be so badly. Spock's thin lips met his with bruising force, and it almost hurt, but that just kept him grounded in this. Spock was just as desperate as he was, just for his own reasons, but nevertheless, the half-Vulcan seemed just as consumed by it as he was. Spock didn't seem to be able to hold enough of him. His lips and hands and eyes searched him, mapped him, felt him, drank him in. He felt so exposed, but he let Spock take everything. Goddammit, he could open him up and pull him apart, as long as it meant Spock would stay, he'd do anything.

His own hands gripped Spock's arms, trailed up to that pale neck, his fingers tangling in that black hair, holding tenderly, but forcing Spock's face up to kiss him again.

He wasn't sure when they both ended up completely naked but in an instant he felt Spock inside him, and it hurt so good and he nearly screamed and he needed more and _now_. He didn't even have to speak it and the friction was unbearable and the heat burned him. He could only feel where Spock's body touched his, warming up his cold, lifeless hollow existence with every emotion he wished belonged to him.

It was intense and he couldn't help from screaming, seeing stars, more amazing in the back of his eyes flashing white and hot, than any in space, his body quivering, the muscles so taut they felt they were about to snap. He was crying again, but he couldn't see anything, he only felt hot and only heard heartbeats and breathing.

He couldn't make himself move, and he only stared at the ceiling, completely catatonic. Could this really be the end of all of this?

Everything hurt. He could feel his skin warming from the inside out; he knew there would be bruises there later. Inside, everything was swirling around in him, bitterly reminding that he was taking what wasn't his. He moaned in sorrow, his eyes closing.

He felt Spock's hand in his shoulder, light and awful because he knew that something bad was coming, just one more thing.

"I have to say something."

He barely registered the words being spoken to him.

"I should have said something earlier. I know and you know that I've tried. But I took advantage of you."

"What?" He was surprised at the tone of his voice. It was so empty and hoarse.

"I… lied to you. About this. I just needed you so badly that I selfishly lied to you."

If this had never happened before the accident, did it mean that it belonged to him?

No.

What Spock had wanted was who he had been. And for his effort he got this; half the man he truly loved.

He knew now that he would leave Starfleet. He needed to.

"So are we over?"

* * *

AN: Listened to "comptine d'un autre été l'après midi" by Yann Tiersen while I wrote this. Beautiful song. Look it up.


	18. To Know That He Ruined Everything

Alpha shift had been over for quite a while. He hadn't been on the bridge when it ended; he had been retained in Lab 5, which he had been for a while. He knew Jim would be off the bridge by now. There was something about that was just different; Jim seemed distant and confused and there was just a sorrow about him that he could just _feel_, as if it were tangible.

The doctor had been seeing Jim more and more often lately, hoping that Jim had regained any memory. He couldn't help but get nervous, but every day Jim came back with nothing and seemed all the more depressed over it.

He still harbored that terrible lie in his chest, it had wrapped around everything inside of him and was constricting. It's been nearly a year and he was still taking advantage of his friend, his _Captain_. He couldn't help it, but every day that passed, he fell deeper in love with the man, but it hurt him that their relationship was built on nothing and could never have existed should Jim had not come back with amnesia. It was all so fragile that it hurt him to see Jim give himself to him, with a faith that he didn't deserve. He was a lying traitor.

Jim always seemed fragile to him now. He seemed desperate and afraid and everything he did he did to get his approval. Jim's very essence seemed to hinge on him and that was disquieting. They had frantically given each other everything in some misguided attempt to stop everything from hurting them that now things were starting to crumble. He had let Jim give up everything and now he couldn't give it back, and Jim was falling apart in his hands. If he had never lied, this would never have happened.

He didn't know how much admitting to his dishonesty would do for either of them now, but he knew he had to say it, he had to ruin this, his very dream he turned into his own nightmare and private Hell. Jim didn't deserve what he had driven him to. He knew he might not be able to fix this, or get out of this with much of himself left, but he had to rip it apart before it ruined Jim completely.

He left the laboratory silently and made his way to Jim's quarters. He wasn't sure what to expect, but when the door slid open, the noise it made, as quiet as it was, reverberated through the entire room. The only other noise he could hear was gasping, as if Jim couldn't breathe. He rushed into the room, but saw that there was nothing wrong with him, at least superficially. He was stunned to see his Captain sprawled on his back on the mattress, his eyes blank. Jim had been crying; his eyes were bloodshot and the lines his tears made left streaks running down his face.

He collapsed onto the corner of the bed, unable to look at his Captain anymore. He just didn't know what to do. He knew now that he had waited too long. It was all too late and it was all falling apart and it was heavy.

Everything this was has been draining him, pulling him apart until he stood exposed and so dependent that it hurt. He felt _everything_ now. And everything that Jim felt, he did too, and it was an agonizing familiarity that echoed against everything inside of his and filled him to where it hurt and he never knew you could be so close to someone like this. When they had become so codependent they had reached the point of no return.

He should never have let it go this far.

But Jim's lips pressed against the tip of his ear, his temple, jaw-line, so tender and soft that it hurt. He couldn't stand that in spite of how much he had destroyed him, Jim was still so gentle and loving, as if his Captain didn't know what he had done. When those cool lips met his he couldn't help but get lost. He could feel Jim melting into him, such a desperate feeling, as if he was finally taking what little Jim still had.

His shirt was removed and discarded hastily. He couldn't even find it in himself to care about anything but Jim and their shared pain and his guilt and how much he wanted this to last. He wanted this so much that it was killing the two of them.

He tried to stop thinking, to just be in this moment right now. He tore at Jim's clothing, removing everything quickly, his hands searching that body as if he could find something tangible that could save them. His hand fell over where Jim's heart was; his fingers traced the pulse up to his neck. It was raw and he could feel Jim's body shaking and thrumming underneath his fingertips.

He wanted to say this was his, but he couldn't. He had wanted to possess this more than anything and he has destroyed it. He leaned down and claimed Jim's lips and his heart nearly stopped. Fresh tears slid down Jim's cheeks and he swallowed Jim's sobs in the kiss. Those hands grabbed him and held him tightly, gripping him like a frightened child. Jim needed acceptance, and he knew that he would never be able to give him everything, but right now, all he wanted to do was show that he loved him, oh, he loved him so much, but he couldn't control himself and it was all shaking and crumbling.

He shoved Jim onto his back and he wanted this to be so beautiful but he was going insane and he knew he must be hurting the man he loved and yet he couldn't stop. He wanted this to be what he had always wanted but it was false and wrongfully obtained and this shouldn't be his. Jim shouldn't be underneath him, holding him so tightly as if he feared letting go.

He needed this to his, just for now.

He leaned down and kissed Jim, but he was so forceful, he needed to get into his soul and just _take everything_, claim is as his and hold it for just a little while longer. His hands and eyes were everywhere on his Captain's body savoring everything, saving it inside of him, knowing this will be the last time this could ever happen.

He pressed his lips to the corners of Jim's eyes, tasting the salt in his tears. He kissed Jim's neck, feeling the pulse of that strong heart beat and throb under his lips. He felt hypnotized by that strong beat.

He felt so _human_ in this moment. Everything burrowed inside of him and strangled him.

Jim's hands glided over his arms, lightly held his neck, his fingers tugging gently on his hair. Jim guided him back to those full, bruised lips and devoured him. Jim's tongue pressed against his bottom lip and it felt so good it hurt.

Everything seemed to move so fast, yet it melted and he couldn't focus on anything. He just needed to be as close to Jim as he could get, as one with him as was possible. He was engulfed by the heat inside of Captain and was drowning in the intensity of their bodies so close together and one.

Everywhere their bodies met, he was on fire and he never wanted the blaze to go out. He moved harder and faster, unable to hold back and Jim was crying and if he wasn't so compromised and pulled in so many directions, he would be too. This had to come to an end. Jim would never be able to recover if he just kept taking everything.

He could only hear Jim and Jim was all he could see, but those eyes, those gorgeous blazing cerulean eyes were glazed over and marred by blood vessels.

When it became too much to hold in, he drowned in Jim's screams and everything inside him flowed into Jim's body and he held him tightly.

Jim was absolutely catatonic and it was frightening. This couldn't be a more fitting sign for the end of everything. Jim's eyes fell shut and Spock was afraid to touch him, but he couldn't wait any longer. Neither one of them could survive this for another day.

"I have to say something."

His voice was barely a whisper. He didn't have enough in him to be able to say these words. His conscience had finally won its battle, but didn't have the strength to back up its convictions anymore.

Jim was hardly responsive. His eyes remained closed and his body motionless. His breathing was shallow and his heartbeat faint.

"I should have said something earlier. I know and you know that I've tried. But I took advantage of you."

"What?" Jim's voice was almost emotionless. It was as if they had switched roles, as if Spock stole every one of Jim's emotions for himself and hollowed Jim out. He feared that is what he had done, but he knew there was more to his theft than just that.

"I… lied to you. About this. I just needed you so badly that I selfishly lied to you."

His voice quaked uncharacteristically but Jim still remained still. When Jim finally spoke, his heart stopped beating.

"So are we over?"


	19. To Come To A Conclusion

Spock had left without a word.

It was agonizingly quiet in the large room, only seeming that much larger as it filled with every ounce of pain emanating off his body in waves. He had taken a shower, changed the sheets, changed his clothes, but it all felt wrong to him.

It had nothing to do with the room, with his clothing or his bed. It was that he was now unbearably alone with everything that wasn't his. Everything was finally winding down into a self-paralyzing spiral that would lead to the eventual destruction of the false life he had lived for the past eight months, living someone else's life, fed by the hopes and loves of the people who loved who he had been.

He was lying on the bed, so emotionally drained he couldn't even cry for what he had given up in not fighting for Spock to stay at least one more night. He knew the bridge tomorrow would be tense as he tried his damnedest not to just get on his knees and beg because he knew he might just get that second chance and he couldn't risk taking anymore. He already had too much and it made it all the more difficult to know that what had been given to him was done so almost as an act of faith.

And to know that the relationship could never belong to him made him all the more undeserving. Everyone he had ever known had been right. He deserved nothing.

God fucking damnit.

Why did this have to happen to him? Why didn't he just resist Spock? Why didn't he beg for Bones to have him removed from the ship? Why? Because he wanted to _be somebody_. Somebody who had a future and a purpose and a destiny, a hero and someone who had someone to love him for everything he was and could be.

He didn't want to be this degenerate fuck up that was only good for drinking, a genius-level repeat offender with nowhere to go but down and his only true place the dimly lit backstreets filled with people who had given up their futures because they weren't strong enough to rise out of diversity and make something of himself.

The other Jim, the _real_ Jim had done that. He had conquered that awful childhood, his broken mother, Frank, his brother's abandonment to become the _Captain_ of a Starship who had someone so devoted to him it was inconceivable. The real Jim had friends and a home and a purpose and he was so jealous he could feel himself die.

"James Tiberius Kirk?"

"He's not here."

He sat up, even though he should have been scared or confused, he could only stare at the pale figure who appeared in his room. He thought maybe it was life's way of telling him he was dying. But his heart rate sped up.

He _knew_ this person.

"We have been watching you for the past eight months and our data is fascinating." As the strangely familiar being spoke, his brain was bombarded. He felt as if everything he had ever known, ever seen, touched, smelt, felt, said was rushing into him, cramming into him and he was starting to fall apart, his seams fraying under the pressure. "We had never concluded identity to be so deeply linked to your past, nor did we expect how our experiment would affect the ones around you."

"You bastard. Get out of here." He growled, unwilling to be diplomatic. He had lost the past eight months of his life for an experiment.

"We are interested to know what would happen if we were to relinquish back to you the memories you have cultivated over the past eight months." The being remained silent for a time, as if contemplating. "Would you, James Tiberius Kirk, like to receive these memories? Or shall we keep them?"

"Like Hell if I care." He snapped, he has had more than enough of this man for the rest of his entire life.

"Perhaps it isn't you to whom these memories mean something. Should we ask the person to whom they are for if you should retain them?"

"What are you talking about?" His heart rate sped up and he wanted to know what the being meant. How could his own memories not belong to him? Who did they belong to?

"The past eight months of your life have been… fascinating. It seems that it took the complete loss of everything that changed you for you to fully recognize your own faults. You had changed your own destiny, James Tiberius Kirk. You had become stronger than you ever have, and yet, you couldn't see what you had accomplished, what you had gained, and you denied yourself everything. You humans are fascinating creatures. So full of pain and love, but you would sacrifice everything if for one person."

What was this being _talking_ about? He wanted to know. He wanted to know what had happened. A dull aching in his chest echoed the words back to him as if something inside of him subconsciously wanted to help him remember.

"Perhaps we will wait to see how you react before we do anything."

"Wait!" He called into the dark room, but he was alone again and strangely empty.


	20. To Be Left Behind

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but this was not anything he could have imagined.

"Hey." Jim called, sauntering onto the bridge the way he always had. All motion stopped on the bridge at once and it was silent except for the usual noises of the machinery and equipment and consoles. You could hear a pin drop. "What? Someone die? Lighten up." Jim said off-handedly into the silence, flopping into the command chair.

He immediately contacted Dr. McCoy who couldn't have gotten to the bridge faster if he could move through the walls.

He couldn't help but watch helplessly as McCoy scanned Jim, then laughed at something Jim had said, but he was too far lost in thought to have heard what it was.

He couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach seeing Jim this way, completely back to normal, not the person he had been for the past eight months. He was cocky again, confident, far more confident and so wonderful, but he couldn't help but miss that tenderness he had possessed not long ago.

He was momentarily struck by panic, and while it didn't reach his face or even his eyes, for they were far too dead now, it shredded him on the inside. Did Jim know? Did he remember the past eight months?

"Well, you're fit for duty." McCoy said, his gruff voice finally cracking his barrier of thought. "You really can't remember _anything_ that happened this past eight months?"

"No, I really can't." Jim sounded defeated, only slightly, and confused. No matter what Jim did or didn't remember, he still could read Jim so well. His very core was the same, who he was now and who he had been for the past eight months were fundamentally the same, they had the same masks, the same signs, the same flags, they just had two different outward personalities, but they were both the same little hurt child that he had cared for, the person he loved and knew more intimately than anyone else, Jim included, would ever know.

"Well, that's normal." The doctor stated. "You may or may not regain those, but losing eight months is better than losing years, so feel lucky."

"Yeah, don't I?" There was a distance in his voice. He just couldn't help but pick up on everything now. It hurt. It hurt more than ever knowing that he was the only one who could remember, but it was better off this way.

He tried to convince himself of that.

McCoy left the bridge not long after, and he turned around and faced the science station again, engrossing himself in some formula to get his mind off of everything.

"What's so interesting?"

He kept himself in check, he showed no reaction, but his heart sped up. He fought everything to keep control, to prevent himself from shaking.

"It's nothing."

"Well, it's pretty fascinating." Jim stated staring off at the screen, his bright blue eyes analyzing the complex formula.

"Is there something you wanted to ask?"

"Yeah, actually. You off all people with that steel trap of a memory would be able to remember what had happened the past few months, right? I mean, I know you're really observant. I've been wondering about… some things… and I figured if I was going to start trying to piece this puzzle together, you'd be a great place to start."

"I'm not sure if I would be of any assistance, Captain." His heartbeat soared, but he knew Jim didn't remember anything. There was nothing in his tone that even hinted at the possibility of him accusing him of anything. Whatever Jim wanted to know, it had nothing to do with him, and that stung, but he would have to just swallow it.

"Who knows." His captain shrugged his shoulders, glancing over to him, wide smile on his face. "Can't hurt though, right?"

"Alright." He ceded. He wouldn't be able to say no, and he would jump at any chance to spend time with him, even if he had to settle for friendship; it was better than nothing and that would have to be good enough.

"Awesome, alright." Jim laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. He tried not to jump, but the touch just brought memories, phantom touches, to flash in front of him. "I'll see you in my quarters after the shift."

Jim walked away from him then, leaving him no room to cut in or say a word edgewise.

The bridge had resumed the normal chatter and it was far from silent, but he felt so separate from everything. He felt miles away from everyone else. The sounds were muted, everything past the science station was blurry, as if he wasn't really a part of the bridge, like he was an uninvited, unknown observer, with no way to contact the real world, a comatose patient with an out-of-body experience.

He had truly lost everything.

He didn't know what to do.

He couldn't back out of this; he'd had enough experience with Jim to know he wouldn't be able to. He turned in his chair and saw Jim smiling, listening to Sulu say something to him, but there was an intense contemplative look deep in those irises, as if he was detached, like him, just a little.

He wished he could know what he was thinking about.

The end of their relationship had been so sudden he didn't even have the time to build up everything that had managed to keep his feelings, those for Jim and otherwise, held up and holed away where they couldn't run amok and compromise him. Seeing Jim so happily oblivious to everything he had done, everything he had taken, all the pain he inflicted in his selfishness, he wanted to be content with the fact that his guilt over hurting Jim should be gone, but it was overshadowed with the undeniable ache that reminded him that parts of him were missing and bleeding, because they were given to and deeply touched by Jim, they needed him to come back, to fix them, he needed Jim to put him back together, to tell him that he was strong enough, that he had a place in this world in spite of being a half-breed, that he could slowly get over the loss of his mother given a comforting hand.

He was angry. He wanted to say that Jim had ruined everything, but it was he who broke it all apart. It wasn't real anyway. But did he want it to be.

He turned back around to face the science station, his eyes studying the equation, his mind shattered and unable to concentrate.

* * *

AN: So, I was reading the reviews, and I got one from fantasmaalineal where she mentioned the song "Maybe" by Secondhand Serenade, and I listened to it, and wow, it made a little sense, haha. I was listening to "All The Same," by Sick Puppies. Good song.


	21. To Start To Add It Up

It was quiet in his room, eerily quiet. And it felt different. He couldn't define how, but it just seemed foreign to him. It looked entirely the same as it had eight months ago, as if nothing had been moved or no one had lived in it. It was creepy and disquieting in a silent way that he had lived here, but it wasn't _him_ as he was right now, like some sort of doppelganger had taken his place.

If anything was considerably different about the room, it seemed like it was far more organized. Lost memories or not, he had never been one to keep anything clean or organized. For the briefest of moments, he mused over whether he had gotten in a relationship that lent him someone to keep his quarters from looking like a disaster but he shrugged the idea off. No one had approached him about something like that, and he wasn't the type of person to get involved with someone that would lead to that sort of domesticity.

It just wasn't in his character.

He rifled through his own drawers to see if there was anything there that hadn't been there eight months ago. He found a P.A.D.D. in the top drawer that password locked, but luckily it unlocked at the sound of his voice. The first entry was dated eight months ago and was a folder full of videos and recordings of people retelling his life. He only skimmed through those files, skipping ahead to the ones more recently dated. They were personal logs, they were _his_ logs, yet, watching them, he felt like a trespasser.

He played the most recent file and was shocked. He recognized the voice as his own, but the words he was hearing he couldn't have ever imagined himself to say. He fell back into the desk chair and just listened, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"It hurts. This is becoming ridiculous. It won't be able to last much longer, the way this is progressing. It's self-destructive. Both of us are taking so much and there's so much that isn't there that soon there will nothing left to take and it will fall apart and oh god if I could prevent that, but I can't. I shouldn't have encouraged this, I should have run screaming, like I knew I should have, but I couldn't resist it. I wanted to know what it felt like. I wanted to have something that made this all seem like it was worthwhile and that I was worth a damn to someone. Damn it, I should have seen this coming. I should have known that when I accepted I was going to end up here, I should have known that when I gave up everything I was going to be empty. I just never expected it to end this way. Damn it."

It was unmistakably his voice, but it was deeper, hoarser, as if he was about to break down. Who was this person who had him at his wit's end? Who had it been that he had fallen so hard for? Had they split up? It had only been two days since that message was recorded. It was the day before he got his memory back, before he woke up from what felt like a coma to find out that he had lost eight months of his life.

No one could get over such a deeply rooted relationship as he was sure that one had been. It was impossible. He had seen his mother try to live through the death of her husband and she couldn't do it in all the years he's known her and god knew she was a strong-willed woman.

There was a hesitant knock on the door to his quarters, and he was suddenly aware that he had been rifling through that P.A.D.D. for nearly a half an hour and had lost track of time. His eyes ached and he became aware that the room was inauspiciously dark.

"Lights 70%." He called out as he approached the door. He punched in the code and the door unlocked and slid open.

"Evening, Captain." Spock was stiff, disconcertedly so.

"Are telling me that even now you're still so formal?" He said, a laughter in his voice, although the formality of this situation was uncomfortable. There was something heavy, some gravity, between them. Had he offended his First Officer somehow? He shook his head, clearing his own thoughts and hopefully some of the discomfort. "Anyway, we're not here for me to get you to loosen up, which seems to be a lost cause anyway." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. He couldn't figure out why he felt so awkward. "I found this." He blurted out, handing the P.A.D.D. to Spock, trying to buy himself time. "You have any idea who I'm talking about?"

He locked eyes with Spock, tried to read what was in them. Spock started to listen to the recording and he noticed when the half-Vulcan nearly dropped the P.A.D.D. in what he could only define as shock. Spock shoved the P.A.D.D. back into his hands forcefully.

"If you would excuse me, I am needed elsewhere."

And he was gone.

He tossed the P.A.D.D. onto the desk and collapsed into the chair. He dropped his elbows onto the desktop and rested his forehead against his hands. None of this was making any sense. If anything, the more he thought about this, the more it confused him. He knew he must have all the answers, everything was right in front of him, he just couldn't add it all up.

Damn that 'experiment.' He was already so scattered in pieces, did they really have to spread them out? He had been coping just fine with all the fragments, but now he was annoyingly and painfully aware of how many pieces there were, and so agonizingly cognizant that he couldn't do anything with them because he didn't know where to start.

Damn it.

"Where the Hell are you? I know you're watching me." He screamed into the room, but nothing happened.

He was stagnated. How long was this being going to screw around with him? Why couldn't anything make sense? Why couldn't anyone _help_ him understand?

He got up and paced across the floor.

There were too many things inside his head, too many words and feelings and thoughts and he didn't know where to start to unravel and make sense of them. He was getting a migraine and he turned the lights down.

Suddenly, he was struck with an epiphany, and he switched the computer on.

"Computer, list most frequent visitors to my quarters over the past eight months."

As the computer sorted through eight months of data, he couldn't help but shift his weight back and forth, couldn't help from nervously biting the inside of his cheek. He wanted to know, but at the same time, was unsure if he was ready to know.

"Most frequent visitor over the past eight months: Commander Spock, 97.5673% of logged entries."

There was no mistaking the computer's response. He nearly collapsed onto the floor.

"Computer," his voice was shaking, he wasn't sure if it was shock or some muted anger that had yet to strike him, or if it was fear. "Recalculate: Most frequent visitors in the past seven days."

"Most frequent visitor over the past seven days: Commander Spock, 99.6945% of logged entries."

He picked up the P.A.D.D. again, just holding it in his hands. Everything seemed to add up now.

His entire body started to tremble.

It was adding up, but the conclusion was unthinkable and beyond him.

He dropped the item in his hand and rushed out of his room to the room only seconds from his own.

He would get his answers, no matter how hesitant he was to know the truth.


	22. To Love You

"Your race is just as fascinating as the humans." The figure spoke, voice calm, a strange tone punctuating the words, as if he belonged to another plane of reality. "You are far more emotionally complex, yet your restrict emotion, in opposition to human culture which thrives around its expression. Very curious."

The being was benevolent; there was no indication in its body language that it intended harm, but he couldn't help but be on edge.

"May I inquire as to your appearance?" He asked finally, with calculated effort. He was just as fascinated with the creature as it seemed to be of him.

"Straight to the point," the being mused, not moving from where it stood, if that word was even applicable. "You do not necessarily appear threatened. It is difficult to analyze something that has no definable patterns of behavior."

"Excuse me?"

"You are, so to say, very unpredictable. We have seen your reactions to James Tiberius Kirk. We have found that you have not followed what we had predicted."

His face paled at the mention of Jim.

"You have been watching me?"

"Not you. We have been observing James Tiberius Kirk. We have for the past eight months. We have found that our predictions for his behavior to be erroneous as well. It is difficult to test something with so many variables, however, we have concluded that humanity is a race defined by emotion and choices. As was once said, the smallest ripple in a pond can become a wave and alter the course of the future, as you are well aware."

"If you were watching the Captain, why are you here?"

"We have withheld his memories of the past eight months. When we spoke with him, we were unable to determine if the memories of the past eight months would mean anything to him. He was indifferent, but he cannot know what they are. We had decided to seek the person at the center of them. Would you like him to regain these memories?"

His heart stopped beating. All he could do was stare, his voice failing him. The figure waited patiently for his answer, but he was unsure what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but he also knew that he would only further his selfish attempts on possessing something that could never be his. Giving the memories back to Jim would only hurt him and force a wedge in between the two of them. He could save him all the pain and selfishness and destruction and desperation if he kept it all to himself.

"No. They belong to me, and me alone. There's no reason to make him suffer for them."

"As you wish."

"Hey, wait. Don't I get a damn say in this?"

He eyes snapped over to the doorway to his quarters, and standing in the threshold was Jim. The captain stepped into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Fascinating." The being stated, falling back into a farther corner to observe.

"Captain. You don't want them. I promise."

"Bullshit. You don't know what I want. Don't be so selfish." His eyes widened, Jim's squinted. His Captain stepped closer to him and he couldn't help but step back. "I have an idea what happened. I listened to that recording." Jim's voice softened considerably.

"I lied to you." He admitted, wincing in pain at saying the words knowing that it meant admitting to that absolution that they could never be. "You were in a fragile state and I convinced you to become involved with me." He chose his words carefully.

"Hey, I'm not angry." Jim said lightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm a little confused, but I'm not angry."

"You should be. I took advantage of you. I should be put on court-martial." He choked out, shrugging off Jim's hand.

"Would you give that train of thought a rest? I'm not holding any of it against you. Why did you intend not to tell me?"

"Because I hurt you, Captain."

"Even now you can't call me Jim?"

"I hurt you, Jim. Believe me."

"I won't. I want to _know_."

He couldn't say anything. Jim was stubborn as ever. He just turned away and retired farther into the room, leaving the atrium with only Jim and the omnipresent being.

"What an interesting turn of events. He is willing to hold the secret in the attempt to shield you from pain, James Tiberius Kirk. He has put a lot of faith in you. Do you hold him in the same regard?"

"I'm not sure."

True to form, Jim followed him into the room, grabbing his arm and turning him to face those piercing blue eyes.

"Jim, let this go."

"I can't. Not when I can see in your eyes what this meant to you. Don't I at least deserve to know what it felt like to be _loved_?"

He turned his face away, his eyes catching the being's momentarily. Jim leaned in, his lips close, _too close_, to his ear.

"Please?"

"I can't say yes. It's what is for the best."

"Dammit, Spock." Jim exclaimed, backing away in frustration. "This isn't about only you."

"Everything's already ruined. Why do you need to know what it's like to see something fall apart?"

"What if I want to save it?"

"You can't. It wasn't meant for you."

"What the Hell does that mean?" Jim demanded, their faces suddenly centimeters apart.

"If you hadn't lost your memory, it never would have happened. I selfishly did it for myself."

"That doesn't justify what happened after you lied. No matter what you say, you can't _make someone love you_ and dammit, I know I did. I must have. It's still in me somewhere. I can feel it."

"You shouldn't."

"Stop saying what you think I want to hear and tell me what you really want to say."

"Why do you always do this to me?" He asked, desperately. He fought to maintain control, but he was starting to slip. "I regret that I couldn't prevent this."

"I'm glad you didn't." Jim's voice was quiet, soft. The tone lingered in his mind, with his eyes closed, he could feel the words. "I don't need you to say yes. I don't even need them, the memories. I can feel everything inside me. We can start again."

Jim's arms wrapped around him tightly. He could feel Jim's lips pressed lightly against the pulse in his neck. If he could he would have cried; it was just so tender, so genuine and innocent. He couldn't get himself to move, his limbs felt heavy, but Jim's hands trailed down his arms, bringing life to them and he held onto Jim with everything he had.

He didn't want to let go, not again, not ever.

"Spock?" Jim's voice whispered gently against his neck.

"Yes?" His voice cracked.

"Would you let me try again? Would you let me try to love you?"

How could he be given a second chance? He didn't deserve something like this. Jim was so open in his arms, so like he had been during the past eight months. Jim was so weak yet so strong, broken, but he was starting to pull himself together, and he gave him the chance to help put him together again too. They were both so hopeless, but at least they would have each other.

He couldn't phrase it any other way; he loved James Kirk. He loved him and everything he needed was here. It would never be easy, but it didn't have to be. If he could spend one minute with Jim like this, one more, it could ease that terrible ache in him.

"Jim. Please." He wasn't sure what he was asking for, but Jim seemed to understand, those strong, yet so human hands, tightening their grip on him, holding him as close as possible. "I love you." He whispered meekly.

"I love you too."

* * *

AN: I think this is the end! I want to thank all of you who have stuck around with me from the beginning, and everyone who favorite'd this, reviewed it!

Question!: Is this the end? Would you like to see more? Explain!!


	23. Epilogue

Epilogue

* * *

"Sometimes I feel like he's still watching me."

He sighed, leaning back against the headboard. It was quiet in the room, with the exception of the noises of the stylus tip on the screen of the P.A.D.D. or the clicking of the keys.

"Why?" Spock responded, not entirely interested, but indulging him anyway.

"I just feel like he is." His train of thought faded away, and he just watched Spock work on the reports that he should probably be doing right now.

It didn't bother him that it felt so domestic for him to feel so content in just watching Spock work, that it was so natural for him to be here. He smiled to himself.

It just hit him, but it had been months since the last time he ad seen that being, since compulsively told Spock that he loved him. When he said it now, it wasn't compulsive; he meant it more than he ever thought he'd be able to. He had long gotten over the fear he had harbored for those words, he was more comfortable saying them, as if it was as easy as breathing.

He couldn't put into words how beautiful it was that he had somewhere to lay himself open, a safe place with someone who honestly wanted to see him flourish, be whole. He knew that Spock would give up everything for him; it still made his heart race when he thought about that. It was so daunting to be faced with something so powerful, something he couldn't control, couldn't run from, something he instead ran to.

He knew he belonged here. He wished he had figured it out earlier, without having some sort of divine interference from a race that was elusive and powerful, a constant reminder that he should never hold in what he wanted to say, a constant reminder that nothing ever happened to the people who waited idly by, waiting and watching for something to happen. He would never be able to thank them enough for slapping him across the face and making him see that what he had needed to find was never far away, he just couldn't see it.

When he was alone, he found himself uttering "thank yous" to the air, wondering if they were ever heard.

"Jim?"

He snapped out of his reverie, looking back over towards the desk, capturing Spock's gaze and holding it.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"There's just so much going on in your head."

"I thought you just block me out." He joked, playfully.

"I haven't in a while. I've become used to your erratic thought patterns. It's just that you seem rather enraptured by what you're thinking. Would you mind if I asked what you were thinking about?"

"You don't really have to ask." He said. "I was just thinking about you."

"About me?" Spock asked, his eyebrow arching in that beautiful way.

"I was just thinking about everything that happened. About how much I love you." He was still surprised at the ease with which those words fell from his lips. He said them enough for the both of them; it was as if he had dammed them back for so long that he couldn't help say them, especially when they couldn't mean more.

He pushed himself off the bed and walked over to Spock, pressing his lips against that burning forehead, running his fingers through that ebony hair. Spock leaned forward and rested his forehead against his chest and he pressed his lips to the crown of his head. It was so intimate in a beautiful way, that this all belonged to him, something that no one else would ever have. He felt Spock's hands gently grip his hips, the heat of those fingers seeping to his bones.

A slow heat spread throughout his body, weakening his knees, drowning him in something more powerful than anything he had ever felt before he had met Spock, the feeling of being connected to each other so deeply, of being one mind, inseparable. He had always been slightly afraid that his hectic mind would just drive something between them, keep them apart, but Spock embraced everything about him wholeheartedly, he wanted everything. Spock didn't say it as often as he did, but he knew that Spock loved him; it always drifted on the edge of their connection, and in moments like this, that warm feeling flared and burned through him and it was like a breath of life and it overtook him.

When their connection was in its basest form, he had been reluctant to take it farther, unsure what to expect in opening everything up and lying it bare. Being much less mentally powerful in the same way Vulcans were, he wasn't sure how he could handle everything that he was there for Spock to take, see, feel, know. If he had been able to create barriers, doors, he might not have waited so long to acquiesce, but Spock had never gone where he was reluctant to let him. Now, he let him, liberated in knowing that he was safe in him. He had been shocked as to the ease with which Spock had shared himself with him; he had hid so few from him and now everything was as much his as it was Spock's.

He couldn't define how much he loved this, loved him.

He knew Spock knew all of this as he thought it, felt everything he was feeling, the awe, love, admiration everything that only grew and deepened as time went on.

"I love you, Jim." Spock whispered quietly into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn't need to hear the words out loud to know that Spock loved him, but there was something about the tone, something deep and beautiful and calming, and the rarity of those words spoken out loud made them all the more precious and it melted him inside.

"You have a lot more work to do?" He asked in a breathy voice.

"Yes."

"Want me to help?" He smiled at the ease with which moments like this just wove themselves into their lives, such beautiful, intimate moments that punctuated their days. He fell into a second chair set by the desk and took half the messages, replying to them as needed. His eyes locked on the computer screen, but he could see Spock lean in, and he felt those lips press against his temple softly. He tried to keep his attention on what he was doing, but he instead was all to willing for the kiss Spock initiated, turning his head and locking their lips together. "We're never going to get anything done." He whispered, his lips brushing Spock's lightly.

"Don't concern yourself with it." Spock stated, clipping the thought, pressing another kiss against his lips. He smiled into the kiss, his hand resting against Spock's cheek, his fingertips brushing the elegant tips of the half-Vulcan's ear.

Nothing was more perfect than little moments like this, these beautiful moments when, although tomorrow could never be predicted, knowing that he had this for now and for always would always make everything make sense and give him something to hold on to, some underlying stability for the rest of his life.

He leaned into Spock's touch, hot and amazing, letting himself slip under the waves of emotion pouring out of Spock, filling him completely. At the same time, he was sharply aware of his own emotions rolling off him in calm waves, wrapping around Spock. It was so fascinating feeling two consciousnesses in his head, his own and Spock's, together, entwined, inseparable from now, past death, into forever more far reaching that space could ever be. He could never imagine being without this, without him. It was unthinkable, so foreign to him now.

They broke the kiss, and he grabbed the P.A.D.D.s and threw them onto the bed, dragging Spock along with him. He fit himself flush against his lover, his best friend, his bondmate, his everything, and drifted off to the rhythmic sounds of Spock working.

* * *

AN: I felt like they needed some sort of lovely ending after everything that happened. Thanks again to you all!

Another Question! [I ask you guys a lot of questions]: What would you like to see from me now? In terms of a new story? I have already started "The Thrill," check it out if you're interested, but I'm interested in what you want to see. Leave a suggestion in the review box. Click it, click it now!


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